ALDEN 

ARTHUR 

KNIFE 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 






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CAPTAIN 


OF THE ELEVEN 


CAPTAIN 

OF 

The Eleven 


BY 

ALDEN ARTHUR KNIFE 


ILLUSTRATED 



HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
NEW YORK AND LONDON 
M C M X 


PI 

'■/'■'/A 


,4 


Copyright, 1910, by Harper & Brothers 

Published September, 1910. 

Printed in the United States oj Anurica 


-• 


©GI.A271805 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

I . The Kick-Off i 

II . An Appeal to the Referee ii 

III. Down 20 

IV. Coaching 26 

V. On the Line 34 

VI. Changing Goals 41 

VII. A Doubtful Decision 50 

VIII. A Trick Play 59 

IX. Foul Tactics 69 

X. Roughing It 77 

XL Bunny Scores 85 

XII. Time Out 91 

XIII. The Line-Up 98 

XIV. Preliminary Practice 107 

XV. On the Defensive 116 

XVI. Out of Bounds 125 

XVII. Coaching from the Side-Lines .... 136 

XVIII. Team Work 146 

XIX. Delaying the Game . . o . . . . . 155 

XX. A Drop 165 

XXL Holding 174 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

XXIL Unfair Interference 184 

XXIII. The Officials Confer 194 

XXIV. Off Side 202 

XXV. On Side . 211 

XXVI. Play . 221 

XXVII First Half » . 232 

XXVIII. Intermission 240 

XXIX. Second Half 249 

XXX. The Score 260 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 

THE finish: NIP-AND-TUCK 

GUESS I’VE GOT TO DO THE BEST SAILING I'VE 
EVER DONE, OR THERE WILL BE A MISSING 
BUNNY TO-NIGHT ” 

“talk of nerve! say, that’s nerve for 
you!” SAID JOE 


Frontispiece 
Facing p. 48 

“ 66 

< ( 


170 







CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


I 


THE KICK-OFF 


IME out!” 



1 The referee’s whistle sounded shrilly through 
the crisp November air, and the game came to a tem- 
porary halt on the Military Academy’s ten-yard line. 

In the grandstand there was a stretching of necks 
and then a murmur of disappointment among the 
Clinton enthusiasts as they watched Billy Bryan, the 
trainer, hurry out on the field. 

“Who is it the crowd asked, and it seemed a 
long time before the answer came. 

“Cliff Rogers hurt his ankle!” shouted some one 
from the side-lines. Rogers was the Clinton captain. 

Hargrave, their coach, paced up and down glanc- 
ing anxiously at the group of subs, and now and 
then shaking his head. Hargrave was worried. If 
anything happened to put Rogers out of the game 
there was no one to fill his place, and Clinton’s 
chances to win would vanish. 


1 


1 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Out on the field ClilF Rogers was sitting on the 
ground gritting his teeth and trying desperately not 
to show the pain he was suffering. About him were 
gathered his team-mates, watching intently while 
Billy Bryan, after cutting the laces, drew off the boy’s 
shoe and exposed a rapidly swelling ankle. 

“ How is it Cliff asked, a trifle tremulously. 

The trainer arose, and motioned to Hargrave. 
“You’ll have to come out,” he said, shortly. 

“Oh, but, Billy, I can’t!” cried the boy. “Why, 
it’s only just sprained, and — and it ’ll be all right in 
a minute.” 

Cliff made an effort to rise, but the trainer spoke 
peremptorily. “Now you lie still. There won’t be 
any walking on that ankle for ten days anyway, and 
it all comes of your not keeping your legs stiff 
when you fall. How many times have I told you 

that r 

“But, Billy, I just can’t stop,” Cliff pleaded, the 
tears coming to his eyes. “Why, there’s no one to 
take my place, and — and we were just going to score, 
and — Billy, you must -let me play!” 

By this time the coach was on the field, and Cliff 
turned to him. 

“Please, Mr. Hargrave,” he begged, “don’t let 
Billy take me out. I’ll be all right in a minute.” 

Hargrave looked down at the injured ankle with 
a sober face. It was obvious to any one that the 
boy could not walk, much less run. 

“I’m afraid there’s nothing else to do but take you 
2 


THE KICK-OFF 


out, ClifF,” he said. “It’s mighty hard luck, old 
man, but — ” 

“Who will you put in my place Cliff interrupted. 
“There isn’t anybody — and, oh, Mr. Hargrave, I 
can’t go out! It’s my last game for the school, and 
I’m captain, and — ” He was forced to stop to keep 
from breaking down completely. 

“ It’s mighty hard luck,” one of the Academy boys 
remarked, sympathetically. 

Big Tom Cary, who played centre for Clinton, 
leaned down and patted his captain on the back. 
“Don’t you worry. Cliff, old man, we’ll beat ’em, 
anyway. See if we don’t!” 

“Sure we will!” echoed the other members of the 
team. 

“But who will we put in ?” asked Cliff, looking up 
at Hargrave despairingly. “There isn’t any one 
but Harry Carstairs who can play my position, and 
he’s at quarter.” 

“All we can do,” began Hargrave, after a mo- 
ment’s pause, “is to put Harry at half, and — ” 

“Then who will play quarter?” the Clinton team 
demanded in chorus. 

“Bunny Reeves,” said Hargrave, quietly. 

“Bunny Reeves!” cried Cliff. “Why he’s only 
a kid, and not much bigger than a minute.” 

“It’s the best we can do,” Hargrave returned. 
“He isn’t very big, I admit, but under the circum- 
stances he’ll have to go in — and perhaps he’ll sur- 
prise you. I hope so, anyway. Come along. Cliff.” 

3 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Hargrave and Billy led the limping captain off the 
field, a heartbroken, v^oebegone boy, who was so 
unhappy that even the cheers from his school-mates 
in the grandstand failed to ease his disappointment. 

Probably no one was more surprised than little 
Bunny Reeves himself when Hargrave nodded to 
him. 

“Do you mean me, sir he asked, in a bewildered 
sort of way. 

“Yes; hurry up and get that sweater off!’’ was 
the answer; and the boy, with trembling fingers, 
made himself ready. 

“Now, see here. Bunny,” Hargrave said, leaning 
down and putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder, 
“don’t get rattled. You’re all right, and I want 
you to play just as you have been doing on the 
scrubs, without thinking it is a real game. Under- 
stand 

“Yes, sir,” said Bunny. 

“It’s our ball on their ten-yard line, and if we can 
score now I think we will win, even though Cliff is 
out of the game. There isn’t much time left, you 
know. You go in at quarter, and on the first play 
I want you to take the ball yourself and run to the 
right. If you don’t make it, take the ball again — 
unless, of course, you lose ground, in which case 
let Carstairs try a drop-kick.” They were walking 
out on the field as Hargrave talked, and he whis- 
pered his final instructions. “I’m counting on your 
being so small they won’t see you, and,” he added, 
4 


THE KICK-OFF 


“if you have anything of your father in you, you’ll 
make good.” Then he hurried back to the side- 
lines. 

In the grandstand there was considerable dis- 
cussion. Why were they putting in a kid like Bunny 
Reeves He didn’t stand a show with those big 
fellows from the Academy. He had nerve enough, 
maybe, but — ^he was such a kid! Well, it was all 
up with Clinton now; no doubt of that. The only 
hope was that the Academy wouldn’t score and the 
game would end in a tie. It had been the worst kind 
of luck that Cliff Rogers should have been hurt just 
then, because Clinton was sure to have made a 
touchdown, and now — well, all they could do was 
to hope for the best; still, it was like playing with 
only ten men, because, really. Bunny Reeves didn’t 
count. 

Out on the field the Clinton boys were trying hard 
not to be despondent, and when Bunny came on 
they clustered about him, patting him on the back, 
just to show they had all the confidence in the world 
in him. 

Meanwhile the Academy boys were secretly elated 
at what had occurred. Not that they rejoiced that 
Rogers had been hurt, for they were a decent lot of 
fellows all round; but it was natural that they 
should be glad that the best player on the Clinton 
eleven had been forced to leave the game, making 
them fairly certain of winning. They looked at 
Bunny and laughed (they couldn’t help it, he was so 
5 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


small), and jumped to their places in the line ready 
to take the ball at once. 

The referee blew his whistle again, and the game 
was on. 

But Bunny was rattled in spite of Hargrave’s en- 
couragement. When the teams lined up and he 
went to his position at quarter-back, he couldn’t 
for the life of him remember the signal for the 
play Hargrave had spoken of. In fact, he couldn’t 
remember anything, and for what seemed a long 
time he stood rubbing his red head, trying to think 
of those numbers that a few moments before were 
as familiar as his own name. 

Then, all of a sudden, they came to him, and, turn- 
ing toward the backs, he called out the signal in his 
high, boyish voice. 

‘‘He’ll do,” said Hargrave to himself. “He’s got 
the nerve, but he certainly is pretty small.” 

Bunny called the numbers once more to be sure 
every one understood, and then reached down for 
the ball. 

The instant it was passed there was a crowding 
together of both teams, a mass at the centre, with 
one or two men of the Clinton eleven running hard 
to the right end of the line, and the usual confused 
struggle that for an instant is a part of every play 
on the football field. 

Then suddenly Bunny Reeves came flying out from 
the scrimmage clutching the ball, which seemed 
almost as large as he, and making his short legs 
6 


THE KICK-OFF 


move as fast as he could. He was running straight 
across the field, and for an instant none of his 
opponents seemed to see him at all, but, before he 
could turn toward the goal-line, two of the Academy 
players spied him and made after him like a shot. 
As they came near Bunny slowed up and dodged 
back, halting almost in his tracks, and every one 
thought he would be downed for certain; but the 
Academy full-back, not being able to change his 
direction so quickly, overran his man, and succeeded 
only in brushing the youngster with one arm. It 
staggered Bunny momentarily, but he recovered 
and was oflF again, this time straight toward the goal. 
His delay, however, had given some of the other 
Academy boys time to come up to him, and he 
seemed surrounded. Apparently there was nothing 
Bunny could do, and no way for him to get out of 
the circle of antagonists who hedged him in; but he 
was very small, and first one and then another of 
the men tried to tackle him and failed, for, when he 
crouched down, he was so near the ground that 
it was almost impossible for the taller boys to hold 
him, though one of them bumped him pretty hard 
and Bunny lost his feet. But even then he didn’t 
stop. He rolled over once, twice, and then, scram- 
bling up again, tumbled over the line for a touch- 
down. 

In the grandstand the Clinton supporters went 
wild with delight, and the way they shouted showed 
how little they had expected what had happened. 
7 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


The Academy were silent for a minute, but then 
they gave their team a good, rousing cheer for en- 
couragement, and just to show they hadn’t a thought 
of defeat. 

On the side - lines Hargrave whispered to Billy, 
‘‘That’s what I hoped would happen,” and Billy 
nodded approvingly, though he didn’t even smile. 
Billy rarely did smile, by-the-way, and those who 
didn’t know him had an idea he was cross. 

Of course, Clinton thought the game was over. 
There was so little time left to play that no one, not 
even the Academy boys in the grandstand, expected 
their team to score, and Hargrave himself began to 
feel comfortable about it; but there was plenty of 
pluck in the Academy eleven, and, when they lined 
up to kick, their captain told his men that they must 
even things up, at any rate. 

Clinton ran the ball back a few yards, and then 
promptly lost it on a fumble. Just whose fault 
it was no one seemed to know, but lose it they did, 
and Academy had a first down on Clinton’s forty-five- 
yard line. Then they began to work it slowly but 
surely down the field, while the Clinton supporters 
grew anxious, and Hargrave paced restlessly along 
the side-lines. On the Academy went, getting nearer 
and nearer to that precious goal, until presently they 
were on Clinton’s ten-yard line. 

“They have three minutes yet,” Billy Bryan said 
to Hargrave, and the latter nodded his head rather 
dolefully. 


8 


THE KICK-OFF 


Undoubtedly Bunny Reeves was the weak point 
on the defence. He was too small, and try as he 
would to stop the rushes of his bigger opponents, 
they went over him again and again for substantial 
gains. 

It was big Tom Cary at centre who thought of a 
way to stop them, and he called Carstairs and Bunny 
to him for a consultation. 

On the next play Bunny crouched down behind 
the centre, with Carstairs beside him, and as the 
Academy man snapped the ball he jumped straight 
over Cary as if he were playing leap-frog. Carstairs 
gave him a vigorous push while he was in the air, 
and before the opposite quarter could get the ball 
away he was on top of him. A fumble followed, 
and when the officials reached the bottom of the 
pile there was Tom hugging the ball desperately. 

A moment later the referee blew his whistle, and 
the game was over. 

After the two teams had cheered each other there 
was a rush for the field, and soon Bunny Reeves was 
being carried on the shoulders of his fellow-students 
amid the shouts of the entire schdol. 

Bunny didn’t like it very much, and tried to get 
down more than once, but they held him up until 
they reached the gymnasium, where he was glad 
enough to escape to the dressing-room. 

There was a great deal of excitement that night 
about the school. There was a dinner for the team, 
at which Doctor MacHenry, the head-master, made 
9 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


a speech and congratulated the boys on their play, 
and Mr. Hargrave told them they had really done 
well, considering everything. Cliff Rogers, standing 
at the head of the table with a crutch under his arm, 
said that, even though he was forced to go out of 
the game, he was just as proud as if he had made 
the touchdown himself, because it was his substi- 
tute who had done it, so that he felt that he might 
take some of the credit of it to himself. 

In fact, every one had a word to say about little 
Bunny Reeves, who sat silently at the table, not 
knowing how to act, for, after all, he was only a boy 
in the lower forms, and not quite at home with 
these big fellows, many of whom were going to 
college next year. 

When it was all over. Bunny ran to his study in 
Barton Hall, so that he could have a few minutes 
with his chum. Bob Struthers, before the lights 
were out. Bob was waiting for him, and the two 
talked until Mr. Graves, the house-master, knocked 
at the door and told them that it was long past their 
bedtime, but, considering everything, he wouldnT 
scold. 

So they went to bed, and the only lights left in 
the big hall were those in Mr. Graves's study on the 
first floor. 

And that is how Bunny Reeves began his football 
career. 


II 


AN APPEAL TO THE REFEREE 

HREE years later, at the end of the season, 



A Bunny Reeves was made captain of the foot- 
ball team, and it is with the following summer and 
autumn that this story has to do. 

Bunny had been at Clinton since he was able to 
talk — almost. On the books of the school he was 
entered as Percival Haughton Reeves, but every one 
had called him Bunny as far back as he could re- 
member, except, of course. Doctor MacHenry, the 
head-master, who usually addressed him as ‘‘My 
boy,’’ except when he meant to be a little stern and 
said “Percival.” 

He had grown into a rather chunky, thick-set boy 
weighing perhaps a hundred and fifty-five in his 
football suit, and, being fast, he made a valuable 
man behind the line. His face was freckled, and 
he had red hair — at least, his hair was more red than 
any other color, though not bright enough to give 
him a name like “Reddy” or “Bricktop.” 

Bunny didn’t talk much. He was inclined to sit 
silent while the others chatted of this or that, so 
that he had the name of being a “queer little chap” 


11 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


from the very first, though he was always willing to 
do anything the other boys did. 

The fact is that Bunny missed what other boys 
had, and that was a home. His mother died very 
soon after he was born, and his father was so broken- 
hearted over it that he plunged into his business, 
hoping to forget his sorrow a little. He left the 
baby to old Susan, the colored nurse, and, by the 
time the boy was old enough to go to Clinton, Mr. 
Reeves was so absorbed in other things that he put 
off getting acquainted with his son, saying to him- 
self that “there were many years ahead for that.’’ 
Thus it happened that Bunny scarcely ever saw his 
father, for in the summer (until he was old enough 
to travel alone) Susan came for him and took him 
to a camp in the Adirondacks, where he stayed until 
school opened again. But although the old nurse 
did all she could for “her boy,” as she called him, 
she couldn’t give him what he had lost. 

It was this, perhaps, that made Bunny a little dif- 
ferent from his schoolmates. He used to puzzle 
a good deal over it, and, after vacations especially, 
he would sit and listen to the fellows talking of 
what went on at home, and regretting that their 
parents would not let them do the things they wanted 
to, until Bunny began to feel that they scarcely ap- 
preciated how lucky they were to have some one 
interested in them, for he knew he would have given 
anything to have his father take a hand in his goings 
and comings. It was always a question of rules 
12 


AN APPEAL TO THE REFEREE 


with Bunny. He couldn’t go out of bounds, not 
because his father objected, but because “it was 
against the rule,” and that made all the difference 
in the world. 

Bunny was a fair student. He didn’t like to study 
any better than other boys, and he was neither more 
nor less mischievous than most. Occasionally he 
found himself in trouble with Doctor MacHenry, 
was disciplined by the other masters when he de- 
served it, and escaped many a punishment that he 
should have had — just like other boys. 

In athletics, and particularly football, he excelled, 
and from the time he took Cliff Rogers’s place on 
the school eleven he remained a regular member of 
the squad until he was elected captain. It may be 
that his associates had an idea that Bunny was dif- 
ferent because he was so silent, still, for all that, he 
was very popular, though no one thought much of 
what was likely to become of him. 

It is a mistake to say “no one,” for there was 
Doctor MacHenry — “Old Mac,” the boys called him 
behind his back. He knew Bunny’s father well; in 
fact, Mr. Reeves had been one of his boys years be- 
fore, and the good doctor worried a great deal about 
Bunny. It was he that put Bob Struthers and 
Bunny together into the big room in Barton Hall, 
for Bob was just the opposite of Bunny, and talked 
all the time, so that from the first the two got 
along famously, and the friendship, begun when 
the boys were small, grew and strengthened as 

13 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


the years passed until now they were quite in- 
separable. 

One day, a week or two before the summer vaca- 
tion, Bob Struthers received a letter from his mother 
that had important news in it for Bunny. 

“Mother won’t let me go,” Bob said, rather dis- 
consolately, to liis room-mate, who was busy with a 
book. 

“To the camp ?” asked Bunny, looking up. 

“Yes,” Bob went on; “she says Fm not to tease 
her any more about it — that she sees me little enough 
as it is. I think it’s pretty hard luck, don’t you ?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bunny answered, vaguely. 
“There isn’t much to do at camp.” 

There was a pause as Bob went on reading. 
Presently he burst out into an exclamation of de- 
light: 

“Listen, Bunny! Mother says Fm to bring you 
home with me this summer. That there is plenty 
of room in the cottage, because sister is going to 
Newport, and you can stay as long as you like. Of 
course, you’ll come. You haven’t anybody to ask 
whether you may or not.” 

For some minutes Bunny was silent. He wanted 
to go, no doubt of that; but this was a new situation, 
and he wasn’t sure whether it was against the rules 
or not. 

“1 don’t know,” he said, finally. “Fll have to 
think about it.” 

“ But you want to come, don’t you ?” Bob insisted. 

H 


AN APPEAL TO THE REFEREE 


“You’ve never been to the seashore, and it’s really 
lots of fun. You see, there’s the bay and the ocean, 
and we can fish and sail and bathe and — oh, lots of 
things! Please, Bunny, say you’ll come, so I can 
write mother right away.” 

“I can’t tell yet,” answered Bunny, a trifle dog- 
gedly. 

“Oh, now you’re going to get one of your silent 
fits,” Bob retorted. “I don’t see why you can’t 
come. Having you there would be almost as much 
fun as going to camp.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Bunny repeated, and that 
was all Bob could get out of him for the time being. 

Bunny spent all that day puzzling over it, and 
when the evening came he was no nearer a solution 
than before. He didn’t know exactly what to do. 
He wanted to visit the Struthers’ very much indeed. 
He was tired of the camp, and had been hoping that 
Bob might be permitted to go with him this summer, 
just to make it more lively, because most of the boys 
who went there were too young to be companion- 
able. But it had never before occurred to him to 
question his own going. Now that this invitation 
had come from Mrs. Struthers to spend the summer 
at the seashore, he wondered what he should do. 

There was Susan who might be consulted, but 
he was sure she would have no authority. It was 
the rule that he should go to the camp in summer, 
just as it was the rule that he should go to Clinton 
in the winter. These things had always been so 

15 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


from the time he could remember, and when it 
came to breaking the routine he didn’t know what 
to do about it. It would seem simple enough to 
most boys. They would sit down and write, say- 
ing: ‘*Dear Dad, — I want to spend the summer with 
Bob Struthers. His mother says I may, and won’t 
you let me That would be the easiest way to do 
it; but heretofore Bunny’s letters to his father had 
been rather formal, and he hesitated about making 
this request, which seemed to him out of the ordi- 
nary, and he was inclined to exaggerate its impor- 
tance. 

Finally he decided that in a case like this he had 
better consult Doctor MacHenry, and went directly 
after supper one evening. 

‘T wanted to ask you something,” he began, un- 
certainly. 

The old doctor smiled encouragingly. ‘‘Go ahead, 
my boy,” he said. 

“Well, you see, sir. Bob Struthers’s mother has in- 
vited me to go to the seashore with him this summer, 
and he wants to know whether I can go or not — 
you see, sir, I don’t know.” 

The doctor looked grave. He guessed what was 
going on in Bunny’s mind, and knew the under- 
current of unhappiness in the boy’s life. 

“I suppose you’d like to go?” he asked, after a 
moment’s pause. 

“Yes, sir, I should,” he answered. 

“And you want permission — is that it ?” 

i6 


AN APPEAL TO THE REFEREE 


“Yes, sir/’ answered Bunny. “Of course, I 
thought of writing to father, but — but he’s so busy, 
and — ” The boy halted. 

“You didn’t want to bother him?” The doctor 
supplied the word. 

“That’s it, sir,” Bunny agreed. 

“Well, my boy,” said Doctor MacHenry, after 
another short silence, “I don’t believe he’d be 
bothered. Just write him a little letter saying 
you’d like to go if he has no objection.” 

“Very well, sir,” said Bunny, rising to leave the 
room. 

“And, my boy,” the doctor added, “you might 
mention that you are the captain of the football 
team.” 

Bunny halted on his way toward the door. “Do 
you think he’d care about that ?” he asked. 

“Yes,” replied the doctor — “yes, I believe he 
would. In fact, I’m sure he would.” 

“Thank you, sir,” said Bunny, as he went off to 
his room and wrote the following letter: 

“Dear Father, — Mrs. Struthers is the mother of my 
best friend, Bob, and she has asked me to go to their cot- 
tage at the seashore this summer instead of the camp. 
May I go ? I should like to very much. I hope this does 
not bother you. I am the captain of the football team. 

“ Your son, P. H. Reeves.” 

After the letter was off. Bunny told Bob, and the 

2 17 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


two boys waited vainly for a week, looking for an 
answer in each mail, and being disappointed three 
times a day regularly. 

“f guess I can’t go,” said Bunny; and added to 
himself, “I must have bothered him, after all.” 

“But maybe it will come to-morrow.” Bob didn’t 
give up so easily as did Bunny. 

“Maybe,” Bunny answered, but he really didn’t 
think so. 

Almost another week went by and both boys had 
given up hope, when one day a short note came from 
his father; 

“My dear Son, — I have just returned from an extended 
trip in the West, and find your letter waiting for me. I 
am sending by this same mail a request to Doctor Mac- 
Henry that he decide the question of your going to the 
seashore with your friend Bob Struthers. I am sorry there 
should have been this delay in answering you, but I am 
such a busy man that I am forced to neglect many per- 
sonal matters in which I am deeply interested. 

“ Affectionately, your father, 

“ D. H. Reeves.” 

Bunny went at once to see Doctor MacHenry. 

“Yes, I have heard from your father,” said the 
old master, in answer to the boy’s eager question. 
“I shall write to Mrs. Struthers, and, if she is still 
willing, I believe it will be good for you to go.” 

“Thank you, sir,” returned Bunny; and then, 
with some hesitation: “I wish father wasn’t so busy.” 

i8 


AN APPEAL TO THE REFEREE 


‘‘You mustn’t think,” the doctor hastened to 
reply, “that just because he is so full of his business 
affairs that he isn’t interested in your welfare too. 
He sent a large check for your expenses, and said 
he expected you would want a sail-boat. That 
was thoughtful of him, wasn’t it 

“Yes, it was,” answered Bunny, slowly. “I’ve 
always had everything — a good deal more than other 
boys, except — ” He paused a moment, and then 
continued, wistfully: “I never see him, you know, 
sir, and sometimes it almost seems as if he didn’t 
care. He’s so busy, I suppose.” 

“Yes, that’s it,” the doctor agreed. “Fathers have 
to earn the money for the boys, and that takes time, 
you know.” And then he talked to Bunny, and 
did his best to make light of the matter; but the 
boy, always silent on this particular subject, had 
little further to say, and the good doctor worried 
about him more than any one realized. 

“ By-the-way,” he asked, as Bunny was going 
out, “did you say anything to your father about 
football ?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Bunny; “I told him I was 
captain.” 

Doctor MacHenry sat thinking a long time after 
his visitor had left him. Finally he shook his head 
sadly. “Too bad — too bad,” he murmured, under 
his breath. “I had hoped the football might make 
him realize that the boy wasn’t a baby any more.” 


Ill 


down! 

T he summer was a glorious one for Bunny, 
though in some ways it made him more thought- 
ful and silent than ever. Evidently Doctor Mac- 
Henry had written to Mrs. Struthers, telling her some 
of the facts of the boy’s life: how his mother had 
died long ago and how busy his father was, and 
Mrs. Struthers had understood; for she opened her 
heart to Bunny, making him love her in the way that 
most mothers know how to do. 

And in spite of occasional heartaches, Bunny had 
never had so good a time; for Blue Point, where the 
Struthers have their cottage, is a fine place to spend 
a summer. There is the ocean on one side and the 
bay on the other, so that, as Bob said, one can “fish 
and sail and bathe and — oh, lots of things!” 

Bunny rented the Beth, a little eighteen-foot cat- 
boat which just matched Bob’s Dart, and although 
he didn’t need it, because the boys usually sailed 
together. Bunny found it more fun to have a boat 
of his own, especially when they played water-tag. 
Bunny had learned to sail a boat in the camp, but 
he was glad to find that canoes were very popular 
20 


DOWN ! 


on the upper bay where Blue Point is situated, and 
sent at once to the Adirondacks for his. Bob had 
a canoe also, and was the best paddler in his class, 
having won the annual race the year before. 

Altogether there were so many things for the 
boys to do that Bunny had little time to worry him- 
self about matters he saw no way of helping. And 
then, too, Ted Halliday’s coming made a difference. 

One afternoon, quite early in the season. Bob 
and Bunny were sailing in the lower bay. The wind 
had been freshening, so that when they decided to 
turn back they found that a full mainsail was more 
than the Dart could carry comfortably, running free, 
and they dropped their peak, easing her up at the 
head, and started home. 

After you go through the draw and get into the 
upper bay, the channels are rather tortuous, unless 
you make your course through the Gunning Ditch, 
which is a little risky, because you have a sharp 
turn to clear Masthead Point, and there isn’t much 
room to go about. In trying to squeeze around with 
a following wind you are apt to jibe and fetch up 
on the point, which is a lee shore under the circum- 
stances — and then, of course, you have plenty of 
trouble. It’s always a rather delicate matter in a 
strong south wind, and it isn’t a bad plan, if you 
can get way enough, to drop your sail and drift 
around that point. But this, of course, no self- 
respecting boy would do, and consequently there 
were numerous occasions when a mainsail jibed and 
21 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


a lot of good paint was scraped off the bow and sides 
of some stanch craft. 

On this day Bunny was sailing, Bob tending sheet, 
and they decided it was quicker and more exciting 
to take the Gunning Ditch course than the longer 
and safer one to the west, where the river empties 
into the bay. They had noticed a little vessel ahead 
of them about the size of the one they were in, and 
Bob, who prided himself upon knowing alhthe boats 
in the upper bay, was puzzled. 

“I can’t make her out,” he admitted finally. 

She’s a nice-looking cat, anyway,” said Bunny. 
“She’s going through the Gunning Ditch, too. Say, 
Bob, you’d better take the tiller through here — I 
don’t know the course well enough.” 

The exchange was made, and the boys sat silently 
watching the sail ahead of them. 

“He doesn’t seem very sure of what he’s doing,” 
Bunny said, after a few moments. 

“She’d handle better with her peak dropped like 
ours,” Bob answered. And again they lapsed into 
silence. 

There seemed to be only one person in the other 
boat. He was standing looking over the side, and as 
the boys in the Dart waited eagerly to see him make 
the turn they noticed the other craft swing to the 
north, and an instant later the mainsail jibe. 

“Gee!” said Bobby, who had done that very 
thing more than once. “Did you see that boom 
come over ? She’ll be on a lee shore in a 


22 


DOWN ! 


minute.’' And even as he spoke the p^pdiction came 
true. 

Now, however, the watching boys expected the 
thrashing sail to be lowered as speedily as possible, 
and some one to appear in the bow with a pole to 
begin the task of shoving the boat out of her difficult 
position; but nothing of the sort happened. There 
she lay, with the sail flapping. 

“What’s the matter with the fellow said Bunny. 
“His sail will be all ripped to pieces.” 

“Maybe the halliards are jammed/’ Bob sug- 
gested. 

“But we could see him working at them,” re- 
plied Bunny. 

“Maybe he’s been knocked overboard,” Bob 
said, a little anxiously. “I’ve known it to happen 
on a jibe like that, when you didn’t expect it.” 

“Come on! Hurry up!” exclaimed Bunny. 

“We’re hurrying as fast as we can, unless you 
want to raise our peak, and even then I’m not sure 
we’d make any better time.” 

Bunny had gone to the bow, and was looking tow- 
ard the stranded craft ahead. 

“Come back in the boat,” said Bob, who was 
sailing. “We’ll have to make this turn pretty quick, 
and I don’t trust this wind. We’re getting a puff 
from the westward every now and then, and if it 
swings ’round any more we’ll have to come about 
before we make the turn. Anyway, I don’t want 
you in the water.” 


23 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Bunny, realizing the wisdom of this remark, came 
back into the boat. They made the first turn safely, 
and were now within a hundred yards of the stranded 
craft. Still there was no sign of life aboard her, and 
both boys were becoming more than anxious. 

‘‘Certainly something has happened to that fel- 
low. I wish we could go faster,” Bunny grumbled. 

“I only hope he isn’t overboard. He might be 
drowned,” said Bob. “I never saw any one that 
was drowned. Did you, Bunny ?” 

“No!” snapped Bunny, sharply, “and I don’t 
want to! I wish your old boat would hurry. If 
I had a canoe I would be there by this time.” 

As they approached, it became almost certain that 
something serious had happened. The trim little 
cat-boat tossed this way and that with her full 
mainsail flapping, the peak rising and falling with 
loud reports, her stern drifting first in one direction 
and then in another, while her bow, held fast, made 
it look alarming, for she seemed alive and very 
helpless. 

As the boys came nearer they grew more and more 
anxious, and Bob’s face was pale. Bunny, still im- 
patient, stood up, much to his companion’s discom- 
fiture, who wanted the Dart kept as steady as pos- 
sible while they were sailing so close to a jibe. 
Finally, they were at the turn. 

“Hadn’t we better drop our sail.?” asked Bobby, 
who was now leaving, everything to Bunny. 

“Not yet,” answered Bunny, positively. 

24 


DOWN ! 


“What are you going to do?” demanded Bob, a 
little panic-stricken. 

But Bunny didn’t reply. He stepped back and 
took the tiller out of Bob’s hands, and, putting his 
weight against it, headed for the other boat. Then, 
when he was almost upon it, he threw the Dart up 
into the wind as quickly as he could. 

“Now drop the sail!” he shouted to Bob, who 
did as he was commanded, and the gaff came 
rattling down. Almost at the same moment the two 
little vessels drifted together, and Bunny, leaping 
aboard the stranger, pulled at the sail that hid the 
cockpit. 

Bob looked over from the stern of the Dart, and 
saw a motionless figure of a boy about their own 
age stretched flat on ^ his back. There was blood 
on the white face. 

“Oh, Bunny!” exclaimed Bob, in an awed voice. 
“It’s Ted Halliday, of the Academy, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” answered Bunny, “and he looks as if he 
was dead!” 


IV 


COACHING 

H appily the boy in , the boat was not dead, 
which fact was quite apparent to Bunny the 
moment he leaned down, for he could both see and 
hear that he breathed. 

‘‘We must get him to Blue Point as fast as we 
can,” said Bunny, anxiously, and together they 
dragged the unconscious figure aboard the Dart. 
This done. Bunny took off his coat to make a pillow, 
and, dipping his handkerchief in the water, wiped 
away the blood which came from a cut on Ted’s 
head. 

While Bunny was busy making the injured boy as 
comfortable as he could. Bob was looking after the 
strange boat, lowering the sail and throwing out the 
anchor, so that she could not drift away. Then 
coming back to the Dart, he poled her off the lee 
shore, and, hoisting the sail, headed his little vessel 
homeward. 

“We must get him to a doctor as fast as we can,” 
Punny remarked, after a moment or two of silence. 

“We might find Doctor Wilson at the dock,” 
Bob said, hopefully. “He’s a cross old chap, and 
26 


COACHING 


says he won’t bother with sick people in the summer; 
but he might tell us what to do; he’s always hanging 
around there.” 

“The thing I can’t make out is what Ted Halli- 
day is doing here,” said Bunny, thoughtfully. 

“It’s funny that we should be the ones to find 
him, isn’t it answered Bob, and he was right. It 
was funny, because Ted Halliday represented Clin- 
ton’s chief rival in athletics. He was to the Military 
Academy what Bunny was to Clinton, their best 
all-round athlete and the captain of the football 
team. He and Bunny had played against each 
other for several years in the past; except during 
the contests they had not met, but there was hardly 
a boy at Clinton who didn’t know Halliday by sight. 

“ Do you suppose he’s hurt much asked Bob, 
who was sailing. 

“I don’t know,” said Bunny; “but it looks to me 
as if he was. I wish he’d open his eyes.” And 
as if in answer to Bunny’s plea the injured boy 
raised his eyelids. 

He looked about him in a dazed sort of way, 
wrinkled up his brows as he saw Bunny, and then 
asked, in a faint voice, “What down is it.?” 

The boys saw immediately of what the other was 
thinking. It didn’t strike them as being amusing, 
but rather the reverse. Neither of them said any- 
thing for a moment — there didn’t seem to be any- 
thing to say; and Ted, after another puzzled look at 
Bunny, shut his eyes again as if he were very tired. 

27 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Presently he opened them once more, and this 
time seemed to understand better what was going on. 

“How did I get here?” he asked, weakly; and 
then, without waiting for an answer, went on, “Oh 
yes, I remember, the boom struck me on the head.” 
He looked around him again with an anxious ex- 
pression on his face, and started to get up. “Why, 
this isn’t my boat!” he exclaimed. 

“I don’t think I’d get up if I were you,” said 
Bunny, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder. 
“ Better wait till we see a doctor.” 

“Yes, lie still,” cautioned Bob. “We’ll be there 
pretty soon now.” 

“ But where is my boat ?” demanded Ted, in a 
stronger voice. “This isn’t the Arrow. She was 
brand-new!” 

He was plainly worried, and, although Bunny told 
him that his boat was quite safe and couldn’t get 
away, that didn’t satisfy Ted. He wanted them to 
put back at once, insisting that he was all right; 
but this the other boys wisely refused to do. 

“We’ll get the Arrow as soon as you’re landed,” 
Bunny promised, and Ted was forced to be satisfied 
with this assurance. 

By the time they reached the dock Ted was cer- 
tainly better, and they were lucky enough to find 
Doctor Wilson there, as Bob had predicted. He 
didn’t seem at all cross, however, for he came at 
once when he was told about it, and felt Ted’s pulse 
and looked at his eyes. Then he said the boy should 
28 


COACHING 


be sent home in a carriage, and that he wasn’t to 
walk at all. In fact, he was just as nice as he could 
be for a “cross doctor,” and guaranteed to take 
charge of Ted while the boys went back for the 
ArroWy which Ted insisted should be done at once 
or he would go himself. 

Ted explained that he and his mother were stay- 
ing at the hotel, and that he had been sailing his 
boat up from Toms River, where she had been built, 
when the accident happened. 

“I thought I knew that channel up the Gunning 
Ditch,” he said, apologetically; “but it doesn’t look 
as if I did, does it .?” 

Both boys hastened to assure him that it wasn’t 
any disgrace to go ashore there, as ’most everybody 
did it once or twice during the season; and then, 
leaving him in the care of Doctor Wilson, Bob and 
Bunny returned to Masthead Point for the Arrow. 
They reached home about dusk, and hastened to 
the hotel to satisfy Ted of her safety. They found 
him in bed, rather pale, but otherwise not much the 
worse for the accident. The doctor had ordered 
him to stay quiet for a day or two, after which time 
he would be quite well again. 

“There’s some paint off her bow,” Bunny said, 
in answer to Ted’s anxious inquiries about the 
Arrow. “But her seams are all right, for there 
isn’t a drop of water in her. She’s a fine little boat,” 
he added. 

“Isn’t she!” Ted returned, enthusiastically. “But, 
29 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


say, it was funny you fellows should have found 
me. 

‘‘It certainly was,” agreed Bob. 

“And do you know what you said when you first 
opened your eyes Bunny asked. 

“No, I don’t,” said Ted. 

“Well, you wanted to know what down it was, 
just as if we were playing a game.” 

“] guess seeing you made me think of that,” Ted 
returned. 

“You were down all right!” said Bob. And so 
they talked until Mrs. Halliday suggested that they 
had better let Ted sleep, and they left, promising to 
visit him next day. 

“I say. Bunny,” Bob began, as soon as they were 
outside, “he seems like a nice chap, doesn’t he.?” 

“Yes, he does,” replied Bunny. 

“It’s funny he should be,” Bob went on, “after 
all the things they say about him at school. I never 
thought I’d like a fellow that went to the Military 
Academy.” 

“Oh, well,” Bunny returned, “I guess the fellows 
at the Academy are just like any other fellows. 
Probably they say all sorts of things about us over 
there. Anyway, Ted Halliday doesn’t seem like 
the mucker they say he is, and I like him.” 

“So do I,” agreed Bob, and as it turned out that 
Ted liked Bob and Bunny, the three boys were insep- 
arable for the rest of the summer — and for many 
years afterward, as perhaps you’ll learn some day. 

30 


COACHING 


“He’s so square!” was the way Bunny expressed 
his approval, and the result of this intimacy was that 
the boys acquired a very much more correct idea of 
their school rivals. Somehow, before this. Bob and 
Bunny had always supposed that nothing good ever 
came out of the Military Academy, that the fellows 
over there were more or less unscrupulous, and that 
you couldn’t trust them. And, strange as it may 
appear, the Academy had just the same ideas of 
Clinton, so bitter had been the rivalry for years 
past. 

This intimacy did not in any way lessen their 
keen desire to beat one another in various sports 
and pastimes. Each of the boys had a sail-boat, 
and there was scarcely a day went by on which there 
was not a race of some sort. Sometimes one was 
winner and sometimes another, for all three little 
vessels had about the same speed, and it was usually 
a question of seamanship. On the whole. Bob was 
the best sailor, Ted the best swimmer, and Bunny 
the best in a canoe. Still, none of the boys was very 
far behind the others, and you may be sure that not 
one of them admitted inferiority in any particular 
field. 

Perhaps the best fun of all was “water-tag,” as 
the boys called it. It is not known who invented the 
game, but it is played in sail-boats, and the one who 
is “it” tries to touch another boat as they sail about 
the bay. There are boundaries, and as each boy has 
to handle the sheet, tiller, and centreboard all by 

31 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


himself, it requires great skill and becomes very 
exciting. 

There was a good deal of friendly banter about 
football, of course. Ted pretended to be sorry for 
Clinton when the teams should meet in the fall, 
while Bunny, less talkative, said he’d wait and see. 

Of course they had footballs, and one of the things 
they did every day — for a little while, at least — ^was 
to kick to one another, and Bunny, who was by far 
the best drop-kicker, told Ted where his trouble lay. 
Drop-kicking is mostly a matter of doing it over and 
over again; but there are some fundamental things 
about it that no amount of practice will overcome 
if you don’t know them. And it was one of these 
that Bunny showed Ted, never thinking how some 
day it might be used against him. 

‘‘ I wish I knew how you did it,” Ted said, in dis- 
may, after Bunny had beaten him time and again. 

“It’s easy enough,” Bunny answered, and then, 
a little because he liked the feeling that he was 
coaching, and a good deal because he was generous. 
Bunny explained the secret. 

“You see, Ted,”’ he said, “yow always look at the 
goal-posts when you kick. Now you want to look 
at the balb and see your toe hit it just as it strikes 
the ground, so you can tell what you are doing.” 

“ But how about direction asked Ted. 

“Well, you get that before you kick,” Bunny went 
on. “Hargrave told me about it. You get your 
direction when you plant your feet in a line with the 

32 


COACHING 


goal-posts, and all you have to do is to drop the ball 
and swing your foot in that line. You’ll find it works 
all right when you’ve tried it a few times, but you’ll 
have trouble watching the ball instead of the posts 
at first. I know it took me the longest time to get 
over that habit.” 

Ted tried, and, after a good many failures, at last 
succeeded in keeping his eye on the ball, which 
probably, in every department of the game, is the 
most essential thing to learn. 

And so the summer passed until the day came for 
the great canoe-race, which needs a chapter or two 
to itself. 

3 


V 


ON THE LINE 



'HERE were a number of things that set Bunny 


1 thinking that summer. First of all he began 
to learn what it was like to have a home, and he 
concluded rightly that Mrs. Struthers had most to 
do with it. She, good lady, petted Bunny as she 
did her own Bob, and on a boy who had never 
known a caress except from old Susan, his colored 
nurse, the effect was immediate: he began to love 
her dearly. Sometimes she praised and sometimes 
she scolded, and Bunny was never sure which he 
liked best. Then, too, Mrs. Struthers seemed much 
concerned about his hurting himself, so when she 
told him he mustn’t dive off the roof of the pier be- 
cause she always worried, he began to wonder why, 
and one day he asked her. 

“You silly boy,” said Mrs. Struthers, drawing him 
down to the sofa upon which she was sitting, and 
putting an arm about his shoulders, “such a ques- 
tion to ask! Fm afraid you’d hurt yourself.” 

“But Fd get well again,” said Bunny. 

“ But suppose you didn’t get well,” Mrs. Struthers 
explained. “Suppose you injured yourself per- 


34 


ON THE LINE 


manently and were a cripple for life, think how 
sorry I would be, and how I would blame myself 
for having let you do it. Wouldn’t you be sorry if 
Bob was a cripple and couldn’t run or play like 
other boys ?” 

“Yes,” said Bunny, hesitatingly. “Yes, I would; 
but I never thought of it before.” 

“Of course you didn’t, but you see I do.” Mrs. 
Struthers went on: “I think of you all the time, and 
when you boys are out of my sight I’m wondering 
what might happen to you — and there are so many 
things. You see, mothers have a lot to worry them.” 

“I didn’t know,” said Bunny, rather absently. 

“Well, you know now,” Mrs. Struthers said, giv- 
ing him a little hug, “and hereafter, when you are 
doing something dangerous, just remember I’m 
worrying about you, and that if anything happened 
I would be sorry all my life long.” 

“About me?” asked Bunny, a little incredulously. 

“Yes, Bunny, about you,” said Mrs. Struthers, 
and kissed him. 

That conversation opened Bunny’s eyes to many 
things, and it is to be noted that from then on of 
the three boys Bunny was the most careful to see 
that they arrived home on time from sailing, and 
that, so far as he could understand, they didn’t do 
anything to worry Bob’s mother. And, of course, he 
stopped diving off the roof of the pier, which was 
dangerous, though a good deal of fun, too. 

Then Mr. Struthers was a great surprise to Bunny, 

35 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


True, he was only at Blue Point over Sundays; that 
is, he came early on Saturday afternoon and went 
back on Monday morning, but that time was the 
best in the week for the boys. Mr. Struthers didn’t 
seem very much older than they. At any rate, he 
was out in the boats, kicked the football, swam, 
sailed, and was just one of them from early in the 
morning till bedtime. This gave Bunny a very dif- 
ferent idea of what fathers were like, and naturally 
he couldn’t help comparing Bob’s father with his 
own, whom he scarcely ever saw. 

There were, of course, many things that Bunny 
couldn’t understand — no boy could understand them 
—and so he came to wrong conclusions about his 
father. Mr. Reeves did care very much indeed for 
his son, only, for one reason or another, the oppor- 
tunity had never come to show it. 

All of this doesn’t seem to have much to do with 
the canoe-race that always came toward the close of 
the season; but it had, as you shall see. 

This canoe-race was an annual affair for all the 
people living along the bay. It was in a measure a 
return for the sailing-races that took place off Toms 
River in August, and there was always a good deal 
of fun over it. Men and boys came from as far 
away as Barnegat, and there were races for all classes. 
At night there was a big ball at the hotel, when the 
medals were distributed to the winners, and alto- 
gether it was a considerable event. 

The boys had been practising for it weeks ahead, 

36 


ON THE LINE 


They knew that there were other fellows along the 
bay that would try to take the prize away if they 
could, though there were those in Blue Point who 
predicted that Bunny Reeves would win. On the 
other hand, Bob, who was the tallest of the three, had 
won the year before, and was no mean opponent; 
but there were certain little tricks that Bunny had 
been taught in camp, twists of the paddle that he had 
learned from the natives around the Adirondacks, 
that gave him an advantage which he hardly realized, 
added to which he was stronger than Bob. Still, he 
had never exerted himself as he might, and really 
didn’t care very much whether he won or not, so 
that it was an open question in the little town which 
of the two was the better. 

At last the day of the race came. Everybody in 
the Struthers household was very much excited, and 
Mr. Struthers had arrived the night before, so that 
he would be on hand the first thing in the morning. 
Mrs. Struthers talked of nothing but the hope that 
“her boys” would win, and this puzzled Bunny, 
for he knew they both couldn’t win. He concluded 
that Mrs. Struthers’s remarks about “her boys” real- 
ly meant Bob, and that she hadn’t said so outright 
for fear of hurting his feelings. 

Bob, Ted, and Bunny were very busy, and from 
early morning until the race in the afternoon were 
at the water’s edge trimming their canoes and putting 
things in shape for the contest. They looked over 
the other fellows who were to paddle against them, 
37 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


and Bob maintained that he wasn’t afraid of any 
except Littlefield, who came from Toms River. 

‘‘You want to look out for Pratt,” said Bunny, 
speaking of a boy from Island Heights. 

“I’m not worried about him,” Bob replied, with 
scorn. “It will be between you and me. I’m think- 
ing.” 

“You’ll have to paddle to get it, young man,’" 
retorted Bunny. “All the same, you watch out for 
Pratt.” 

Ted, who really had no expectation of winning, 
was inclined to side with Bunny, but Bob was con- 
fident that, if the prize was to go away from Blue 
Point, Littlefield would be the one to take it. 

The weather was all any one could wish for. 
There was scarcely any breeze, and what there was 
came off the ocean, so that the sand-dunes protected 
the bay, and there was scarcely a ripple on the 
water. The races were divided into those for old 
men, young men, married men, boys of fourteen or 
over, and boys under fourteen. Our boys came in 
the next to the last class, and there were altogether 
seven entries, four of them being from watering- 
places farther down the coast, so that there was con- 
siderable interest manifested in it, not only by the 
boys themselves, but by the people of the several 
resorts represented. 

As the hour for the race approached every avail- 
able space on the dock was filled with people talk- 
ing and shouting for their favorites. Visitors from 

38 


ON THE LINE 


places down the bay who had sailed up in the morn- 
ing anchored their various craft, and when at length 
the first race was called there was hardly room to 
sail outside the triangle that marked the course. 
The referee and judges darted here and there in a 
tiny motor-boat, fixing flags, warning people off, and 
being as fussy and important as these officials usually 
are. 

Mr. and Mrs. Struthers had places at the end of 
the dock overlooking the start and finish line — the 
first people you met when you came up the steps 
from the landing-stage. 

Just before their race was called. Bunny and Bob 
and Ted, with their opponents, got into their canoes. 

‘‘Now, remember, I expect one of my boys to win, 
you know!” cried Mrs. Struthers. 

“You can’t have any dinner unless you do!” 
shouted Mr. Struthers, banteringly. 

Ted Halliday’s mother was there, too, and she 
called encouragement after him, as did the mothers, 
fathers, and sisters of the other boys. Each con- 
testant seemed to have some one in that crowd to 
cheer him except Bunny Reeves — at least, that is 
the thought that came to him as he stepped into his 
canoe. Of all those people there was not one who 
cared a rap whether he won or not. Even Mr. 
Struthers wanted Bob to win, which was perfectly 
natural. None of the cheers that sounded in his 
ears were for him, and he felt a little heartsore and 
blue as he sat in his canoe waiting for the final word. 

39 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


But that wasn’t the worst of it. Not only was 
there no one who cared whether he won or not, 
but all of them wished he would lose. That wasn’t 
fair, for it seemed to give the others an advantage. 
This made him angry, and he shook his head dog- 
gedly and said to himself that he would win, any- 
way, to show them. 

“I wish father was here,” he said to himself. 
‘‘Perhaps he’d be interested like Mr. Struthers is in 
Bob if I won; but he isn’t, and no one cares.” Which 
was a mistake, for at that moment some one was 
hurrying along the dock who took a very keen in- 
terest in the outcome of that race. 

All this time the referee had been getting the 
canoes lined up to his satisfaction, and a moment 
later a pistol was fired, the paddles splashed as 
they took the water, and the race began. 


VI 


CHANGING GOALS 

I T was a triangular course, and twice around con- 
stituted the race for the boys. As has been said, 
Bunny had his eye on Pratt, the Island Heights man, 
who looked strong and had a long reach, the thing 
that counts in a canoe-race, other things being equal. 
Bob, you remember, was thinking principally of Lit- 
tlefield, a rather overgrown fellow from Toms River. 

There was a lot of splashing at the start, and, boy- 
like, a considerable expenditure of strength to get 
in the lead. Bunny took his time, and in conse- 
quence was the last to cross the starting-line; but 
he was in his swing at once, and cool into the bar- 
gain. Bunny was always like that in a contest. 

Ahead of him he picked out Pratt, who was start- 
ing well up in front, with Bob and Littlefield on even 
terms. 

They held these positions for nearly the first leg 
of the lap, when Bunny slowly drew up behind 
Pratt, and in so doing came to within two or three 
lengths of the leaders, Littlefield and Bob. 

It was any one’s race as yet, but the two in front 
were setting a fast pace, and when they made the 

41 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


turn at the first leg Littlefield put still more power 
in his stroke in order to pass Bob and get the inside 
course. Bob sprinted to hold his position, and the 
two began to draw away rapidly from the others. 
Pratt, evidently not caring to hurry at that stage of 
the race, let the clear water between him and the 
leaders widen. Bunny was satisfied with his posi- 
tion behind Pratt, and so, for the greater part of 
the second leg, they were in the rear, although the 
distance was never very great between the first and 
last man. 

Bob and Littlefield, however, were having a fight 
for it. The larger man meant to get the inside posi- 
tion if he could, and he was pushing Bob pretty 
hard. 

Bunny, sitting back and watching, began to grow 
anxious for Bob. He knew his friend couldn’t keep 
that pace up for the entire race, and he knew, also, 
that it would be wisdom to reserve all the strength he 
could for the final sprint at the end. Still Bob kept 
right at it, and as they turned into the final leg of the 
first lap and were heading for the dock. Bunny was 
indeed worried, for although he told himself that he 
meant to win, he wanted Bob to come in second, 
and at this rate his friend was likely to finish last, 
or, at any rate, very near it. Bunny put a little more 
power into his strike. He wanted to come up with 
Pratt, to see what he would do, and, as the Island 
Heights man held to his steady swing. Bunny in a 
moment or two was even with him, and saw a smile 

42 


CHANGING GOALS 


on the other’s face as he watched the leaders. It 
was clear that if this went on Bob and Littlefield 
were both out of it. 

‘‘Perhaps,” thought Bunny, “Littlefield is play- 
ing for Pratt to win by tiring Bob out in the be- 
ginning. Anyway, it looks like it.” 

Whether this was a fact or not, Bunny meant to 
stop it, and began putting on more power, intending, 
at any sacrifice, to come up with Bob and warn him 
of his danger. He was surprised to find that, instead 
of letting him pass, as he had supposed he would, 
Pratt began to paddle faster also, and soon both 
came up with the leaders. 

As they reached the turn in front of the dock the 
cheering became audible to them, and “Littlefield!” 
“Struthers!” “Blue Point!” and “Toms River!” 
were shouted by the crowd, who seemed very much 
excited. 

As they began the first leg of the last lap, Little- 
field, with an extra spurt, forced Bob into second 
place, and Bunny, with a twist he knew well, nosed 
his bow inside of Pratt’s and came up behind Bob. 

“Take it easy!” he called. “Take it easy! There’s 
lots of time yet, and if you keep this up you’re out 
of it. Watch out for Pratt!” 

Bob nodded, and eased up, as he was told. He 
knew that at this rate he was out of the race, but 
he still had enough in him to go the rest of the way 
at a fair clip. Now, however, Pratt began to forge 
ahead on the outside of Bunny, and the latter, in 
43 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


order to head him ofF, was forced to come up beside 
Bob. 

‘‘You keep that pace, old man!” he called. “Never 
you mind what we do!” And then he settled down 
to have it out with Pratt, who plainly meant to pass 
him. 

Now the real tug-of-war began between the two. 
Bunny would have preferred a waiting race — one in 
which the last leg of the triangle would be a sprint; 
but it was necessary to wear out Pratt before that, or 
Bob wouldn’t have a show. Littlefield was plainly 
giving up, and relinquished his lead to the others, 
who presently passed him. 

Bunny was on the inside of the course, and Pratt, 
in order to take the place, had to pass Bunny by a 
length in order to cut across his bow. Plainly the 
advantage was all in Bunny’s favor, and, moreover, 
he knew that, if you keep twisting the bow of your 
canoe often enough, there develops a pain in your 
wrist that soon makes paddling almost agony. So, 
to make Pratt work harder. Bunny permitted him 
to almost pass, and then, as the latter headed his 
boat across, he would sprint ahead, and Pratt, in 
order not to foul, was forced to turn his boat sharply. 
These tactics Bunny kept up until, by the end of 
the first leg, Pratt was not so anxious to take the 
lead, and the pain in his wrist was growing. 

But that didn’t suit Bunny. He wanted to put 
Pratt out of the race, so he began to sprint, hoping 
that the other would follow, and then, evidently, 
44 


CHANGING GOALS 


Pratt began to get rattled and started to beat the 
water recklessly, at which Bunny laughed. Tliis 
didn’t tend to make Pratt any more comfortable, 
and soon he was again even with Bunny, trying to 
pass him on the outside, while the latter continued 
his tactics of letting the Island Heights boy get a 
little ahead, and then forcing him to turn out sud- 
denly, to the great weakening of his right wrist. 

On the latter half of the second leg Pratt gave 
up, and Bunny knew that there was nothing more to 
fear from him. His chief anxiety now was for Bob, 
and he looked over his shoulder and found the 
others strung out quite a way behind, with Pratt 
between them. He didn’t know whether Bob could 
pass Pratt or not, but, whatever happened, he knew 
he could win, and one of Mrs. Struthers’s boys, at 
any rate, would get the prize. 

Bunny’s heart gave a sudden bound as he thought 
of Mrs. Struthers. It wouldn’t be nearly so nice for 
her if he won as it would be if Bob came in first. 
Where was Bob, anyway ? Again he looked over his 
shoulder, and was glad to find that his friend was 
creeping up. Just then he turned into the last leg 
at least five lengths ahead of the others, and had a 
good view of those following. 

Pratt was evidently in distress. He was lifting 
his paddle mainly with one hand, and Bunny knew 
that his right wrist was of no use to him and very 
painful. He had tried paddling with a nearly 
paralyzed wrist himself, and knew how impossible 
45 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


it is. Littlefield, behind Bob, was struggling des- 
perately, which never makes a canoe go fast. Bob, 
too, was in anything but good condition, but he had 
pluck, and, although that early sprinting had taken 
the best out of him, he still might beat Pratt. 

Bunny looked to the finish, and saw the flags and 
handkerchiefs fluttering on the pier. He couldn’t 
see the faces yet, but he knew Mrs. Struthers was 
there, waving as enthusiastically as any one, and 
probably shouting for Bob as hard as she could. 

“She’s been awfully good to me,” Bunny thought, 
as he paddled along. “I wish she was my mother. 
I’d show her!” He really was taking it very easily, 
and didn’t care if the other boats did come a little 
closer. 

“If there was any one wanting to see me win I’d 
just leave this bunch behind, and show them what 
speeding a canoe is like,” he muttered, under his 
breath. “But there isn’t,” he added, and his heart 
grew a little heavy. “I’ll show them, anyhow!” he 
said, and began to paddle faster. 

A moment later he dropped his stroke again. “I 
do wish Bob would hurry up,” he said; and then, 
not realizing how little attention he had been paying 
to the race, nor how slowly he had been going, he 
was suddenly awakened to his position by hearing 
the splash of a paddle right beside him. 

He turned in a flash. Had Pratt caught up again .? 
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was 
Bob. The latter was red in the face and laboring 
46 


CHANGING GOALS 


with panting breath, splashing with the hurry and 
confused movements of a tired boy, but full of grit 
and meaning to win if he could. 

Bunny smiled and put on a little more speed. 
They were nearing the finish now, and presently one 
could almost distinguish faces. He could see Mrs. 
Struthers’s blue dress in the sunshine, and began to 
feel very comfortable inside. 

‘‘Her boys would win now, that was sure,’’ he 
thought. He wished Bob had a little more strength, 
so that they could sprint home, for he didn’t want to 
beat him very badly. It isn’t fun to be beaten bad- 
ly — and then Mrs. Struthers — 

“She only said ‘boys’ so as not to hurt my feel- 
ings,” Bunny murmured to himself; and then: 
“She’ll be awfully disappointed if Bob doesn’t win, 
and — ^why shouldn’t he win ? She’s been awfully 
good to me, and — why, of course he must win! 
What do I care ? But I can’t let them think I’m 
giving in to him.” 

From the dock the finish of that race was most 
exciting. The manoeuvres that brought the two 
friends into the lead on the last leg were quite under- 
stood by those watching, and when Bunny went 
ahead, and later Bob crept up to him, the people 
became more and more excited. For a little while 
it looked as if Bunny Reeves was quite fresh in spite 
of his having tired out the Island Heights boy, but 
he wasn’t going very fast — and surely Bob Struthers 
was lessening the distance between them. As they 
47 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


came nearer Bob was still gaining, and a tall man 
standing beside Mrs. Struthers said, 

“Fm afraid your boy won’t hold out.” 

“I don’t know about Bob,” she said, with a smile; 
“but, you know, they are both my boys.” 

“And you really don’t care which wins?” he 
asked. 

“No, I really don’t. You see. Bunny is a dear, 
and — no, I don’t think I care if Bob is beaten.” 

“Well, I should care very much indeed if he were 
my boy,” the man returned, and they were silent 
again. 

In the mean time a change had taken place. Bob 
was even with Bunny now, and the latter seemed to 
be laboring at his paddle, as if he had suddenly be- 
come very much exhausted. 

“It was that last sprint with Pratt that used him 
up, I guess,” said Mr. Struthers. “It’s a case of 
nip-and-tuck now. Go it, Bobby!” 

“It’s just a case of grit. It’s the fellow with the 
nerve that wins this race,” said the tall man to Mrs. 
Struthers. 

Mrs. Struthers looked anxiously over the water. 
“I don’t want either of them to lose,” she said, al- 
most with a sob. “See poor Bunny. He’s splash- 
ing more than ever.” 

“He’s giving up!” said the tall man, with a rather 
bitter laugh. “I’d rather see him anything than a 
boy without nerve.” 

But Mrs. Struthers wasn’t paying attention then, 
48 


THE FINISH; NIP-AND-TUCK 




CHANGING GOALS 


for the end of the race was at hand. Bunny was 
struggling desperately — at least so it appeared to 
those who watched; but slowly, a little at a time, 
Bob’s canoe crept up beside him until, just as they 
reached the finish-line, it shot ahead and won. 

Amid much cheering the two boys paddled over 
to the landing-stage, and Bob, tired but very happy, 
ran up the steps to his family, while Bunny came 
more slowly behind him. 

Mrs. Struthers beamed upon her boys, and, put- 
ting an arm around each, kissed them. 

'‘I’m sorry you didn’t both win,” she said. 

“The boy with the nerve won, and I should like 
to congratulate him,” said the tall man, stepping 
forward. 

Bunny turned sharply, and looked up into the face 
of his father. 

4 


VII 


A DOUBTFUL DECISION 

I T would be hard to tell what Bunny thought or 
felt when he saw his father and realized that he 
had been watching the race, and that, after all, 
there was some one who was interested in his win- 
ning. Perhaps he didn’t feel anything except sur- 
prise at the first moment of the meeting, but very 
soon the significance of his father’s words ‘of con- 
gratulation to Bob made him feel most uncomfort- 
able. His father supposed he had not won because 
he hadn’t the nerve. Anything was better than 
that, and Bunny grew heartsick at the bare idea. 
All the pleasure he had anticipated in Mrs. Stru- 
thers’s delight in Bob’s winning was gone. 

‘‘Well, sir, I don’t suppose you expected to see 
me,” his father began, as they shook hands. 

“No, sir,” said Bunny, “I didn’t.” 

Then Mr. Reeves turned to Mrs. Struthers, and 
the party walked back to the town. Bunny following. 

When they arrived at the cottage Mr. Struthers 
tried to persuade Mr. Reeves to come in and have 
tea with them, but the latter insisted that he must 
go directly back to New York, and had run down 

50 


A DOUBTFUL DECISION 


only for an hour or so to thank them for looking 
after his boy. 

“And I want to congratulate you again over Bob’s 
splendid show of nerve to-day. It isn’t so much 
the winning that I care about as it is the pluck he 
showed. It was fine. I’m glad my boy has such 
an example. Now I’m off. Thank you again,” 
and, motioning to Bunny, he started off toward the 
railroad station. 

Bunny walked beside his father silently, waiting 
for something — he knew not what; but he rather 
dreaded the opening words. They came at last. 

“Well, sir, you seem to be having a pretty good 
time here. It was very kind of Mrs. Struthers to 
ask you, wasn’t it ?” 

“Yes, indeed!” replied Bunny, with enthusiasm. 
He was much relieved to find that his father spoke 
in so kindly a way. Usually he had such a brisk, 
business-like air that the boy was always more or 
less embarrassed. 

“And Bob seems like a nice boy, too,” said his 
father. 

“Oh, he’s fine!” Bunny agreed. 

“Yes,” Mr. Reeves went on, “and I particularly 
admired the way he won the canoe-race this after- 
noon. He has what you evidently lack — nerve!” 

Bunny made no reply. Not to have nerve was 
about the worst thing that could be said of a boy, 
and here was his father accusing him of that very 
thing. To make a denial meant an explanation of 

51 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


the real reason why he had lost, and that he didn’t 
wish to do for several reasons. 

“I am glad to find you are not ready with ex- 
cuses,” continued Mr. Reeves; “but I want you to 
understand that I am not complaining because you 
lost the race. That makes little difference one way 
or the other. It is the way you lost it that disap- 
pointed me more than I can tell you. You had it 
won, and then when Bob Struthers forced you to 
fight for it you gave up. Yes, sir, you gave up! 
Everybody saw you and understood. I suppose it 
is because you haven’t any nerve that the boys call 
you ‘Bunny.’ Rabbits are proverbially cowardly 
animals. You see, my boy, you weren’t willing to 
suffer a little, and that is what you must learn just 
as soon as you can. When you feel tired and 
want to stop, then is the time when you must 
work all the harder if you expect to win anything 
in this world. What was the matter with you ?” he 
ended. 

“There wasn’t anything the matter,” said Bunny. 
“I didn’t win, that’s all.” 

“ It is not all by any means,” his father returned, 
rather sternly. “The winning is the smallest part 
of it, as I said before. It’s a question of nerve. 
Do you know what I do for a living 

“No, sir,” replied Bunny. 

“Well,” his father went on, “I build bridges. 
Some day I expect you to take up the work where 
I leave it, but unless you acquire some courage you 

52 


A DOUBTFUL DECISION 


won’t be of any use to me or to the business. I hear 
you play football.” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Bunny. 

“I suppose you think it takes nerve to play foot- 
ball, eh.?” 

“I never thought of it, sir,” said Bunny. 

“It is at least supposed to, as you will find when 
you go to college,” continued Mr. Reeves; “it did in 
my day, at any rate. But don’t get the notion that 
when you’re out of college you can leave your nerve 
behind you; it is then you need it. And just remem- 
ber that it takes more grit and a cooler head to stand 
on an eight-inch steel beam, with nothing else be- 
tween you and a river a hundred or so feet below, 
than it does to play any kind of a game in school or 
college. And that’s what you must learn to do.” 

Bunny made no reply. He didn’t understand 
quite what this talk was about, but he was distinct- 
ly interested in his father’s business. The building 
of bridges seemed a fine thing to do. He had seen 
men swinging out in the air on steel beams that 
looked no bigger than a plank from where he was, 
and he appreciated that it meant something. 

They walked on in silence till they reached the 
station, and a few minutes later the train was ready 
to start. 

“Now, remember,” said Mr. Reeves, in parting 
with his son, “I don’t blame you for losing that 
canoe-race; ^in fact, I don’t believe much in ath- 
letics, ai/yway. But when you go into a thing I want 
53 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


you to win if you can, and, if you lose, don’t let it be 
because you lacked the courage to fight it out till 
the last. It was the giving up that disappointed me 
in you. That’s a thing I hate to see in any one. 
Stick it out to the bitter end, no matter what you 
are doing, and then, if you lose, you at least have 
the satisfaction of knowing that you have done the 
best you could.” 

With a hand-shake Mr. Reeves said good-bye and 
boarded the train. 

‘‘I hope I haven’t done the boy an injustice,” he 
thought. “At least, he didn’t talk and make ex- 
cuses. That’s something. I guess I’ll have to ar- 
range to become better acquainted with him. I 
suppose he will think I’m as cross as a bear. Too 
bad! Too bad! If I only wasn’t so busy and 
didn’t have to travel all over the country constantly! 
‘Bunny!’” he muttered, “‘Bunny!’ I wish they 
didn’t call him ‘Bunny.’” 

The boy’s thoughts were more or less vague. All 
he felt was a sort of numbness. If he had been 
younger he would have cried and been done with it. 
But crying wasn’t Bunny’s way: he kept all his 
heartaches and disappointments inside, and didn’t 
say a word to any one about how he felt. 

At dinner that night Mrs. Struthers tried to make 
him happy, and laughed at his silence, banteringly 
telling him that he mustn’t mind if Bob did beat 
him, and that when he had another chance he would 
surely win. 


54 


A DOUBTFUL DECISION 


Bob himself was very nice about it, saying that 
he never expected it would turn out as it had, and 
that he didn’t believe if they were racing alone he 
could do it; but he hadn’t a notion that Bunny had 
deliberately let him win. 

Nor did Bunny regret his action. He saw that 
Mr. and Mrs. Struthers were glad, and were looking 
forward eagerly and with pride to the evening, when 
Bob would be presented with his medal before all 
the people in the town; so, after all, there was some 
compensation for Bunny. But he kept remember- 
ing about what his father had said, and wasn’t very 
happy. He wanted to go olT by himself to think 
things over; and so, when everybody was laughing 
and talking about the race, he went down to the 
dock and decided to take out the Beth and sail away 
from all the noise and gayety. 

He found the place deserted. Everybody, includ- 
ing the boatmen, were at the hotel or going there for 
the evening’s entertainment, and no one was think- 
ing of sailing. Bunny paddled out to where his 
little craft was moored, and, tying his canoe up to 
the stake, made sail, and slipped out into the moon- 
lit bay to think over the events of the afternoon. 

The Strutherses didn’t miss Bunny until the med- 
als were being distributed, and then Mrs. Struthers 
began to ask where he was. 

“I thought he was here all the time,” said Mr. 
Struthers, looking around. ^‘He’s probably with 
the other boys.” 


55 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


But he wasn’t. And after asking Ted and Bob if 
they had seen him, and finding no one had, they 
came to the conclusion that he had been more dis- 
appointed at not winning the race than they had 
supposed. 

“I didn’t think he cared very much,” said Mrs. 
Struthers. 

“No more did I,” agreed her husband. “I sup- 
pose he felt disgraced because his father was there. 
Mr. Reeves was rather hard on him, I thought.” 

“His father doesn’t know him,” Mrs. Struthers 
insisted, positively. “I don’t think he’s a very 
happy boy — it makes a difference, not having a 
mother. I wish he hadn’t gone off. We must 
make him feel more comfortable. Still, I must con- 
fess I didn’t expect him not to appear when Bob 
was given the prize. It looks as if he were envious, 
and that is not a nice trait. And Bunny is a nice 
boy all through.” 

“We’ll find him at home when we get there,” Mr. 
Struthers said. “I fancy it was harder on him 
than we supposed, on account of his father’s turning 
up that way.” 

“Who is Mr. Reeves?” asked Mrs. Struthers. 

“He’s one of the best engineers in the United 
States,” Mr. Struthers explained. “He’s the head 
of the Reeves Bridge Company, the biggest con- 
cern of the kind we have. He has to travel all over 
the country, and he tells me that he has a contract 
in New Zealand that will take him thiere for six 

56 


A DOUBTFUL DECISION 


months shortly. So, you see, he’s a pretty busy man, 
and, under the circumstances, it is easily under- 
standable how he has, in a way, neglected his boy. 
He admitted as much to me.” 

“It was very nice of him to come down here to 
thank us,” said Mrs. Struthers. 

“He really is a fine fellow,” Mr. Struthers went on. 
“They tell many stories of him, and ‘Reeves’s nerve’ 
is a byword in business circles.” 

“Well, I think he might find time to get acquainted 
with his son,” said Mrs. Struthers. “He ought to 
learn what a fine boy he has.” 

It was later than they thought when they arrived 
at the cottage after the festivities at the hotel, and, 
although they expected to find Bunny waiting up 
for them, he was not there. 

“He’s gone to bed,” said Bob. 

“Go up and make sure,” his mother told him. 

But Bunny wasn’t in bed; in fact, he wasn’t to be 
found anywhere. 

“Perhaps he took his boat out, and forgot about 
the time,” Mr. Struthers suggested. “He’ll turn 
up all right. Don’t get frightened.” 

“But he would know that I’d be worried,” Mrs. 
Struthers insisted, “and I’m sure if he was all right 
he would be back again unless something kept him.” 

“ But what could keep him ?” demanded Bob. 

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Struthers; “but I wish 
you would ask, or see, if the Beth has been taken 
out.” 


57 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Bob went off to the dock, and was soon in the 
midst of much excitement. The boatmen, return- 
ing from the hotel, found, upon examination, that 
many things were missing. A number of small 
craft had disappeared, and one of the largest cat- 
boats on the bay, besides a sloop belonging to some 
strangers from down the coast, who had expected 
to sail back by moonlight. Also the Beth was gone. 

There was little sleep for a good many people in 
Blue Point that night. But where was Bunny ? 


VIII 


A TRICK PLAY 

B unny slipped out into the moonlight in his 
boat, thinking of little besides his own troubles, 
and feeling keenly that his father had not under- 
stood. He wondered what the result would have 
been if he had explained that he had lost the race 
because he wanted Bob’s mother to be glad. It 
seemed to him that Mrs. Struthers was the nicest 
person in the world, and it was not much for him 
to do for her. But he knew he couldn’t make that 
explanation to his father — or any one else, for that 
matter — because it would have robbed Bob of his 
victory, and Bunny wanted Bob to have it. Then 
he began to speculate upon whether he would have 
acted as generously had he known that his father 
was looking on, and came to the very honest con- 
clusion that he would not. Instead, he would have 
won ‘‘hands down,” as he expressed it to himself. 

But, after all, that race didn’t count much now, 
except that it had given his father the impression 
that he hadn’t any nerve, and Bunny felt the sting 
of that very keenly. As a matter of fact, it had 
never occurred to him to ask himself whether he 
59 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


had nerve or not. When there was something to do 
he went ahead and did it as well as he could, but 
he was quite certain that the boys didn’t call him 
“Bunny” because they thought he was afraid. 

All this time he was sailing a straight course tow- 
ard the mouth of the river that empties into the 
upper bay, and as he slid along in the water, almost 
noiselessly with the steady beam wind he was carry- 
ing, he was scarcely conscious of his surroundings. 
He was perplexed with the situation of his relations 
with his father, but out of all this thinking one com- 
forting circumstance presented itself to him. His . 
father evidently was interested in him, and that 
was something. As he began to puzzle over the 
matter less bitterly, he concluded that he wasn’t a 
coward, and that there would be a chance to prove 
it to his father sooner or later. It was just a mis- 
take, and time would put it straight. 

On the other hand, he had gained a number of 
facts concerning his father. He was glad to find 
that he was a bridge-builder, and that some day he 
was going to be one himself. He felt it was a man’s 
work, and he preferred it to the prospect of spend- 
ing most of his time in an office, which was his 
previous idea of what business consisted of. 

The more he considered the events of the day 
the more cheerful he became. 

“I’ll show him some time I’m not that kind of a 
bunny,” he said to himself. 

Meanwhile he was sailing up the river, scarcely 

6o 


A TRICK PLAY 


conscious of the passing time or what was going on 
about him; but the moon was getting low, and, 
with a start, he looked at his watch rather guiltily. 

It was ten o’clock, and with an exclamation of 
surprise he put the tiller hard down and brought 
his boat about. He knew he couldn’t reach the 
dock short of an hour, and that would mean eleven. 
However, considering the festivities that were going 
on at the hotel, he would probably be back before 
the Strutherses reached the cottage. He was glad he 
had looked at his watch in time, because he wouldn’t 
have Mrs. Struthers worrying over him for the 
world. 

As he turned into the bay from the river he was 
surprised to see two large sail-boats bearing down on 
him. At first he thought it must be some people 
from the lower bay on their way home from the 
dance at the hotel, and this made him wish he had 
started back sooner. 

As they came nearer, however, he was sure that 
he was mistaken in this, because there was no noise 
aboard either boat, which, in a party of young men 
and girls on a moonlight sail, would be sufficiently 
unusual for even Bunny to remark. 

“It is funny,” he said to himself, “and that first 
one is certainly the Olympia. What’s old Captain 
John doing out this time of night without a party 

Capt. John Clark, one of the native boatmen, 
owned the Olympia, and was a great favorite of all 
the boys. 

6i 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Hello, Captain John!’’ Bunny called, as they 
came within hailing distance. “Where are you 
bound for 

There was no reply, and Bunny called again, 
“Hello, Captain John!” 

This time a gruff voice answered him across the 
water. 

“Captain John ain’t here. We’ve hired this boat 
for a sail.” 

Bunny could see now that there were two men in 
the Olympia — one standing by the tiller, and the 
other crouched along the deck outside the combing. 
The Olympia was a big, twenty-five-foot cat, with a 
roomy cabin, very popular for parties, and Bunny 
knew that Captain John would go out in any weather 
or at any time, day or night, if any one wanted to rent 
his boat, but he had never heard of his letting it 
go without him. Sometimes he permitted other 
people to sail her when there was plenty of water 
and not much breeze, but he never knew the old 
man not to go. Captain John loved his boat, or 
at least he seemed to, and there wasn’t one better 
kept, public or private, in the upper bay. 

The circumstance of the captain of the boat not 
being on her impressed Bunny as being distinctly 
unusual, but he had no suspicion of anything wrong 
as yet. However, as he passed he saw a string of 
small boats trailing along behind, and this excited 
his curiosity. 

“What are they doing with all those boats?” he 

6z 


A TRICK PLAY 


said to himself ; and then his attention was attracted 
by the other yacht bearing down on him. 

She was sloop-rigged, and quite unfamiliar to 
Bunny, so he didn’t hail; but when he saw that she, 
too, had a string of small craft strung out aft, his 
suspicions were immediately aroused. 

^‘Hey!” he called, ‘‘what are you doing with all 
those boats ?” 

No answer came to him, and he luffed, spilling the 
wind out of his sail and drifting. 

“Hey!” he called again — “I say, what are you 
doing with those boats 

Still there was no answer, and the sloop passed 
on without a word. 

Bunny watched for a moment, and then suddenly 
hauled in his sheet, came about, and started after them. 

The wind was not strong, and the larger boats, 
dragging a considerable tow behind them, were 
not going as fast as Bunny in his smaller, unham- 
pered little vessel, so that he soon came up with 
them again. He was now convinced that these men 
were stealing. 

“They’re just pirates,” he said to himself. “They 
knew that everybody would be at the hotel, so 
they’re taking everything they can.” 

“Where did you fellows get those boats.?” he 
shouted, as soon as he came within hailing distance, 
and still there was no reply. 

“Well, I’m going along to see what you do with 
them, anyhow!” Bunny called. 

63 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


At this there was an outburst of rage on the sloop, 
and an angry voice shouted: ^‘You get home and 
mind your own business! They’re our boats, and 
we’re goin’ bluefishin’.” 

This, as Bunny knew, was a palpable lie, and as 
he came nearer he could see that there were canoes 
among the string trailing out behind, which were the 
last things bluefishermen would have with them. 

“Yes, it looks like it,” Bunny retorted, scornfully. 
“I never heard of any one going after bluefish in 
small boats before, and I’d like to see you outside 
in a canoe.” 

“You get out of this; it’s none of your business 
what we’re doing. You get home!” came a harsh 
voice across the water. 

“Hey, Bill, what’s the matter?” came a hail from 
the Olympia, some little way ahead. 

“There’s a kid follerin’ us, hintin’ that we stole 
these boats.” 

“I’ll steal him!” shouted the gruff voice from the 
Olympia. “Can’t you send him home?” 

“If he don’t go pretty quick. I’ll make him wish 
he had!” was the answer; but Bunny wasn’t at all 
worried about that. 

“I’ll catch them at the draw,” he thought. “I 
can beat them there and warn the man. He’ll 
hold them up.” But Bunny had miscalculated. 
The two boats, as soon as they came to the mouth 
of the river, changed their course and went up it 
instead of down the bay, as he had expected. 

64 


A TRICK PLAY 


“Why are they doing that?” he asked himself; 
but he hadn’t long to think of this, because he was 
again hailed from the sloop. 

“Hey, young fellow, are you going back home 
or not ?” 

This time Bunny was silent, but he didn’t alter 
his course. 

“Cast olF that tow, Bill,” he heard a voice say. 
“They won’t drift far in this air, and we can pick 
’em up afterward. I’m goin’ after that kid. Stand 
by to haul in that sheet and watch your centre- 
board.” 

Bunny’s heart gave a leap of excitement as he 
realized that the men were coming after him. The 
wind had freshened, and there was no doubt that 
the larger boat could outsail his; but that nerved 
him, and he resolved that they would have trouble 
in catching him. It would be a good deal like a 
game of water-tag, and Bunny was rather skilful 
at that. 

“Trim the jib-sheets!” came the order from the 
sloop. 

Bunny stood up and, putting his back against the 
tiller, prepared to meet the first move the other 
should make. 

He was not in doubt for long. The larger boat 
trimmed her sails flat and began to steer a course 
that would either run Bunny down or force him 
ashore, neither of which Bunny meant him to do. 

As he eased his sheet a thought occurred to him. 

5 65 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


There was plenty of water in the river, even close to 
the shores, but there were two or three treacherous 
sand-spits that reached far into the stream. Bunny 
resolved that if it were possible he would get that 
big sloop aground, and, as the wind held, they would 
have considerable trouble to get her off again. At 
first he thought he would only have one boat to con- 
tend against, but as they went along, the sloop 
driving him inshore, he saw that the Olympia, too, 
had cast off her tow and was luffing, waiting to trap 
him between them. 

“This is fun!” said Bunny to himself, with a 
chuckle. “And I guess Fve got to do the best sail- 
ing Fve ever done, or there will be a missing Bunny 
to-night.” And he eased his sheet still more and 
drew nearer the land. 

That shore, however, was not the one Bunny 
wanted to make for, so in a moment or two he came 
about, went close-hauled on the port tack, and 
headed down the river for the other side. 

Both the boats did likewise, and Bunny saw that 
they were overhauling him rapidly, but he knew 
that he could come about in half the time of either 
of them. The sloop especially, he noticed, was 
slow in stays, so he wasn’t worried at all, but kept 
his course, pointing up as close to the wind as he 
could. 

The sloop kept off, so that the two were fast con- 
verging on a common point, with the Olympia bear- 
ing down on them from above, running free. 

66 



f 












A TRICK PLAY 


The three boats approached one another rapidly, 
and Bunny needed all his nerve to keep his course. 
Evidently the men in the sloop thought they had 
him, for one of them shouted: “We told you to go 
home, and it’s your own fault if we sink you! And 
that’s what we’re going to do!” 

But Bunny didn’t reply — he hadn’t any time to 
talk back. He was busy easing his sheet a little at a 
time, so that the others wouldn’t notice that he was 
preparing to come about. 

With the rush of the water from the big sloop 
almost splashing aboard his little craft, Bunny held 
on. There was a point of sand running out just to 
port of him, and he never swerved, hoping that the 
sloop, which drew nearly three feet more than the 
Beth, would follow. 

“We’ve got you now!” shouted the man. “Will 
you go home if we let you off?” 

Bunny didn’t answer. He stood there tense, sail- 
ing his boat with all the skill he had, and holding on 
desperately while he watched the bowsprit of the 
sloop coming nearer and nearer, inch by inch. 

“Look out for that sand-spit, Billy!” called the 
gruff voice from the Olympia. 

But the warning came too late. Just at that mo- 
ment Bunny let his sheet run, putting his tiller hard 
to starboard. 

“Oh, you would, would you!” shouted Billy from 
the sloop, meeting Bunny’s manoeuvre almost as 
soon as it was made; and so quickly did he follow 
67 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


that the low bowsprit just grazed Bunny’s head as 
it crossed the stern of the Beth. 

“We’ve got you sure!” shouted Billy; but at that 
moment there was a harsh grating, as the sloop, 
taking the sand, came up all standing, while the 
smaller boat, clearing, was out of reach. 

Bunny laughed at the sounds of dismay and rage 
that came from the stranded craft. But there was 
no time for him to think of anything but his boat; 
for the Olympia, foreseeing his plan, was almost 
upon him. 


IX 


FOUL TACTICS 

I N the mean time the excitement at the dock at 
Blue Point was increasing momentarily. The 
news that a great many boats had been stolen spread 
rapidly, and soon the dock was almost as full of 
people as it had been in the afternoon when the 
races were going on. There was much shouting by 
those who were searching vainly for tenders, so that 
they might visit their sailing-craft anchored in the 
bay, lanterns were flashing here and there across 
the water, while men hailed one another to announce 
losses or to assure those on shore that their property 
was safe. Only two sail-boats were missing — the 
Olympia and a sloop; but there were at least ten or 
a dozen rowboats and canoes that could not be 
found. Moreover, upon investigation it was dis- 
covered that many small articles, like bilge-pumps, 
anchors, brass lanterns, and cabin-fittings, had been 
taken, so that altogether the theft was considerable. 

Old Capt. John Clark was particularly upset, and 
went running about asking every one if they had 
seen the Olympia^ finding it hard to believe that it 
had been stolen. 


69 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“It ain’t possible,” he kept repeating — “it ain’t 
possible they’d take the Olymp. She must be here- 
abouts somewhere.” And off he’d go in another 
direction, looking for his precious craft. 

Mr. and Mrs. Struthers waited a long time for 
Bob to return and report on Bunny’s disappearance; 
but that young man, very much excited over the 
robbery, forgot all about his father and mother 
waiting for news, and joined the people on the dock 
in the search for missing property. 

Finally, Mr. Struthers, beginning to be anxious, 
decided he would walk down to the dock himself 
to see where Bob was, and Mrs. Struthers, sure that 
there was real trouble of some sort, insisted upon 
going with him. 

“ I can’t stay here alone thinking of all that might 
happen,” she answered to Mr. Struthers’s advice to 
stay where she was. “I am convinced that some- 
thing has happened to the boy or he would not stay 
away like this.” 

So Mr. and Mrs. Struthers hurried to the dock, 
where they found an excuse for Bob’s neglect of them. 

“The Dart is all right,” Bob announced, excitedly, 
“but the Beth is gone, and so are both the canoes. 
The Olympia and a big sloop from down the bay 
are gone, too, and Captain John is ’most crazy.” 

“But where is Bunny?” demanded Mrs. Struthers, 
who was more interested in the boy than in the boats. 

“Nobody has seen him,” said Bob — “at least, I 
haven’t found any one who has.” 

70 


FOUL TACTICS 


Mr. Struthers now took a hand in the matter, and 
soon the news that Bunny Reeves was missing added 
to the general confusion, and there was at once a 
demand that something be done immediately. 

“If there’s anything happened to that boy along 
of these here thieves,” said Captain John, “there’s 
goin’ to be trouble. He’s the best boy on this 
coast. Never did have no bother with him, and he’s 
what you might call a good sailor for a boy.” 

“Yes; but how are we to find him ?” Mr. Struthers 
insisted, anxious that something practical be done. 

Capt. Sam Bartlett, of the Seahorse^ a cat-boat 
nearly as large as the Olympia, seemed to be the 
coolest of the professional boatmen, and he sug- 
gested that, as the thieves couldn’t take the boats 
away by land, they must be somewhere in the bay. 

“They just naturally can’t go by land,” he ended; 
and no one contradicted him, although Captain John 
bewailed the cunning of the pirates in making off 
with the fastest boat in the harbor; at which Cap- 
tain Sam remarked, “The Seahorse can sail rings 
around the Olymp, and has done it.” Which wasn’t 
strictly true, as Captain John immediately pointed 
out. 

It was decided, therefore, that a search should be- 
gin at once, and, in spite of much talk, there was 
no time wasted in the preparation. Very shortly a 
good-sized fleet of little vessels put out from the dock 
in pursuit of the missing boats, and the missing boy 
as well, for it was the general belief that the latter 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


was in some way involved in the disappearance of 
the property. 

“Like as not he’s just follerin’ ’em,” said Capt, 
John Clark. “He’d have the nerve, all right. He’s 
been down here and seen ’em goin’ off, and, not bein’ 
able to do anything alone, and not havin’ no one 
to help him, we bein’ up at the hotel, he just nat- 
urally goes off after ’em. He’s a good boy, that 
Bunny feller!” 

And that was the way most people felt about it, 
and there was considerable anxiety for fear some- 
thing had happened to the boy, although the fact 
that his sail-boat was gone helped to confirm the 
impression that he was all right. 

“You see,” explained Captain Sam, “if he’d come 
down here and surprised those fellers, likely as not 
they’d ’a’ captured him. On the other hand, they 
wouldn’t have taken the Beth. She’s too small to 
make it worth while, and, besides, they don’t mean 
to take the sail-boats. They’re just usin’ the big 
ones to tow the little craft. They couldn’t dispose 
of the Olympy fer instance, without paintin’ her over 
and probably reriggin’ her; but the little things they 
can hide in the bushes, and sell ’em when they’ve 
got a mind to. It ain’t the first time this kind of 
thing has been done.” 

This was a fairly reasonable argument, and Mrs. 
Struthers took what comfort she could from it; 
but when Bob pleaded to go with the searching- 
party, she refused her permission emphatically. 

72 


FOUL TACTICS 


“Do you want me to worry about both my boys ?” 
she asked. “Indeed, you must not go. I am 
anxious enough as it is.” 

So Bob was forced to sit on the dock and watch 
the little fleet sail off without him. 

“Do you think anything very dreadful can have 
happened to Bunny he asked his father. 

“No, I don’t,” replied Mr. Struthers; “but, of 
course, we can’t tell, and, if it is true that he is fol- 
lowing the thieves, it may be some time before they 
find him, especially if they have gone down the bay. 
Do you know whether he had any food aboard the 

Bethr 

“I am sure he hadn’t,” answered Bob. 

“Nor water?” asked his father. 

“Why no, dad,” Bob explained. “We never keep 
things like that. We always take our lunch when 
we go off for the day. Besides, the lockers on the 
Beth are so small, and they’re mostly full of old sails 
and ropes and things. I’m sure Bunny hasn’t any- 
thing to eat on the Beth” 

Meanwhile Capt. Sam Bartlett had taken com- 
mand of the fleet, and strict silence was enjoined 
upon all, so that if they came up with the pirates 
they might be able to surprise them. 

Captain John laughed at this idea, saying, with 
truth, that if all these boats appeared at this time 
of night it wouldn’t make much difference whether 
there was any sound or not, for the pirates would 
see them and know at once why they were there. 
73 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Nevertheless, the little fleet moved along in com- 
parative quiet, for, now that the excitement of dis- 
covery was over, there was a natural reaction, and 
every one was thinking of what they might find, and 
there was little inclination to talk. Now and then 
Captain John, who was aboard the Seahorse with 
Captain Sam, growled over the slow progress of the 
latter’s vessel, and Captain Sam retorted in kind. 
This rivalry between the two old fellows was a yearly 
amusement of the cottagers, and there was a sus- 
picion abroad that the two captains kept up this 
bickering for the sole entertainment of the summer 
visitors. It was rumored, too, that after the people 
had returned to the city the two were the very best 
of friends, and used to laugh over their squabbling. 
Whether it was true or not makes little difference, 
after all. They were both excellent sailors, and the 
patronage of the summer colony was fairly equally 
divided between them. 

It was just about midnight when the fleet arrived 
off the mouth of the river and separated, half of 
the party going on down the bay, while the others 
trimmed their sheets for a beat up the river against 
the west wind. Among these latter was Captain 
Sam in the Seahorse, who for once agreed with Cap- 
tain John that it was more than likely the thieves 
had gone in that direction in order to hide the small 
boats in the bushes that bordered the many creeks 
and swampy places higher up. 

After sailing a mile or so Captain Sam discovered 
74 


FOUL TACTICS 


a number of black objects drifting in the water 
ahead of them, and these, upon investigation, proved 
to be the missing rowboats and canoes, all tied to- 
gether in two long lines. 

This seemed to upset previous theories. The two 
captains had expected that the sail-boats would be 
found first, and that they might or might not see 
the smaller craft again. 

‘‘Well, it shows one thing, anyway,” declared 
Captain John: “these fellers have turned these here 
loose somewhere up the river, ’cause they’ve naturally 
been driftin’ down with this westerly breeze. It’s 
just a question how far up they are. I’m for goin’ 
right on.” 

This argument was absolutely correct. The boats 
were clear evidence that the pirates had gone up the 
river. 

“We’ll go on a way and see,” said Captain Sam, 
grimly, and steered his boat accordingly. 

Captain John stood forward, peering up the river 
as far as he could in the fast waning light of the 
moon. Once or twice he fancied he caught sight of 
a sail in the distance, but he was too far away to be 
certain. 

Presently, however, he saw two sails close to- 
gether near the south shore. This time there could 
be no doubt about It. 

“Come about, Sam! come about!” he called, in a 
hoarse whisper. “They’re over there off the sand- 
spit. I see ’em plain.” 


75 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


He had run back aft, and with a hand on the tiller 
helped to bring the Seahorse about as he pointed out 
the dim sails to his brother captain. 

“It’s the Olympy^ he whispered. “I could tell 
her if she was miles farther off; but I don’t make 
out the other one — it ain’t no sloop.” 

As they gathered headway on the other tack and 
approached the opposite side of the river, the two 
boats became clearer to their view. 

“What are they doin’ ?” asked Captain Sam, in a 
much perplexed voice. “Looks like they was play- 
in’ that fool water-tag game.” 

“By gum!” Captain John almost shouted, “that’s 
what they is doin’. The fellers in the Olymp is 
chasin’ the other one. And, say, it’s the little Beth! 
They’re after that Bunny feller, and — and they’re 
going to sink him!” 

There was no whispering now. As Captain John 
saw the big Olympia bearing down on the smaller 
boat, he sprang to the bow and let out a mighty 
shout. There were no words to it. It was just a 
big sound, but it served its purpose. 


X 


ROUGHING IT 


HE situation in which Bunny found himself 



A when he had succeeded in running the sloop 
aground was one to try the courage of any one, 
man or boy. True, he had escaped one peril, but 
in doing so he had run into another that threatened 
to overwhelm him. The advantage he had over 
the sloop, due to his ability to dodge, was wanting 
in the present instance. Of course, the Olympia was 
a much larger vessel, and therefore took longer in 
stays than the Beth; nevertheless, her cat-rig enabled 
her to come about almost as quickly, and, moreover, 
she could point much closer to the wind than Bunny’s 
boat. Again, it was not a question of just touching, 
such as made the game of water-tag so amusing. 
The Olympia^ or, rather, the men on her, were in- 
tent not only to touch but to actually run down and 
sink the smaller craft. The big, burly figure in the 
stern of the Olympia looked as if he might be capa- 
ble of doing anything desperate under the circum- 
stances, and, from what Bunny had heard him say, 
he knew that his chances were very slim if the 
Olympia forced him into a bad position. Not that 


77 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


he feared for his life. Bunny hadn’t even thought 
of that. But if his boat was wrecked he couldn’t 
follow these pirates, and they would make off with 
their booty. 

The thieves, on the other hand, were fairly des- 
perate. It seemed a joke at first that four big men 
could not get rid of a boy in a little cat-boat; but, as 
Bunny held to his purpose, it became evident that 
something must be done to rid them of their pursuer, 
or else, in all likelihood, they would go to jail. 
These were the motives that prompted the men on 
the Olympia, and their intention was quite apparent 
to Bunny. 

After crossing the sand-spit the boy found himself 
in a small cove about fifty yards from the shore, 
running free, and steered for the mouth of the river. 
The Olympia, seeing his intention with the sloop, 
had set a course that would clear the point and 
head off the Beth after she had passed over. There- 
fore, Bunny was hemmed in, and saw at once that it 
would be useless to try to get back into the middle 
of the river again as he was then sailing. 

To go about was the only thing he could do. He 
had to make a tack to port or else run ashore, and 
to do this meant that he would head directly for the 
fast-approaching Olympia. If he kept to his present 
course he knew he would be run down and sunk 
within the next five minutes. 

“I’ll show you what it means not^to mind your 
own business,” the gruff voice called from the 

78 


ROUGHING IT 


Olympia. “Fll learn you to interfere with other 
people’s affairs! I hope you can swim, fer we ain’t 
got time to pick you up — mind that!” 

Bunny, for reply, came about and headed for the 
Olympia. As quick as a flash the other trimmed 
his sheet, and for an instant the two vessels were 
pointed directly at each other, with no more than 
fifty yards between them. In the present situation 
the Olympia must run the other down, and, even 
though Bunny might swerve the Beth at the last 
moment and so escape being wrecked, he couldn’t 
avoid coming into contact with the larger boat. 

‘‘Get forward there, you, John!” called the gruff 
voice. “Grab the bow if we don’t smash him up.” 

Again Bunny eased his sheet and ran before the 
wind. He was nearer the Olympia, which was out- 
sailing him of course, but he had gained some dis- 
tance from the shore by the manoeuvre. He began 
to realize, however, that it was only a question of 
time when the Olympia would run him down or 
else force him ashore. This latter alternative Bunny 
wished very much to avoid. It meant giving up 
and losing — in fact, failing in what he had set out 
to accomplish. 

Rapidly the Olympia came up to him, and Bunny 
was at his wit’s end. Only one satisfaction he had. 
If they kept this course the Olympia might crowd 
him, but he could manage to steer the Beth so that 
she wouldn’t b^ stove in. All the Olympia could do 
was to draw up alongside and keep forcing him tow- 

79 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


ard the shore, but they were not sailing so much 
faster than he that the impact would disable him. 
In that contingency, however, one of the men could 
board him, and Bunny knew he was no match for a 
grown man who was desperate. Still, there was 
nothing else he could do, unless he deliberately went 
ashore and so admitted himself beaten. 

“You’d better quit, young feller, and have done 
with it!” shouted the gruff voice, close to him now. 
“We don’t want to hurt you, but we aren’t in this 
for the fun of the thing. Come on, now; give it up!” 

Bunny realized that the man was really pleading 
with him. This was precious time these pirates 
were wasting, and he could appreciate that they 
were very anxious to be out of sight with their booty 
before the sun rose and search for them commenced. 
He knew well that nothing would suit their plans 
better than to be rid of him, so that they might give 
all their attention to disposing of the small boats. 

But Bunny had no intention of giving up. He kept 
his course true, hoping that by delaying the final 
action he might make the robbers too late, and that 
''they would either have to abandon the boats or be 
taken. He knew that the Blue Point men would 
be early on the scene in the morning — as soon as it 
was daylight, in fact; and he was sure that when 
Captain John found that the Olympia was gone he 
would institute a thorough search. So Bunny kept 
on, gritting his teeth and wondering how soon he 
would be boarded, and what would happen then. 

8o 


ROUGHING IT 


He tried to think of something he could do to 
make the Beth go faster, but there was nothing. 
His sail wasn’t half the size of the Olympia s, and 
it was only a question of minutes now when some- 
thing serious must occur. 

On came the Olympia, and Bunny could see her 
bow over his shoulder. It seemed only a matter of 
seconds, and the race — a grim race, this one — would 
be over. Bunny had need of all his nerve. 

It was then, however, that the men sailing the 
Olympia did a foolish thing. One of them, who 
was forward, called back: 

‘‘Blanket him, Mike, and run him down!” 

This meant that the Olympia would steer directly 
behind the Beth, and with her larger sail cut off the 
wind from the smaller vessel. Bunny heard, of 
course, and looked back to see if the suggestion would 
be followed. This was tag in earnest, and he knew 
what to do in case this plan was carried out. 

At once he saw the bow of the Olympia turn in to 
follow his path, and his heart gave a leap of joy. 
They couldn’t have done a more foolish thing, for 
Bunny, after an instant’s delay, giving them enough 
time to be fairly set on their course, suddenly hauled 
in his sheet, put his tiller hard down, and, crossing 
the bows of the other boat, made for the centre of 
the river on a beam wind. 

The Olympia followed, of course, but now there 
was more room for Bunny to handle his little boat; 
and although he knew that ultimately he would be 
e 8i 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


captured, it would take just so much longer to force 
him into a similar position, and every minute the 
pirates wasted was so much gained. 

From the growling behind him he knew that his 
pursuers were more than angry. The fellow who 
had made the suggestion to blanket Bunny was told 
forcibly what kind of a fool he was, and he retort- 
ed that the other didn’t have to do it if he didn’t 
want to. 

This was fine, and pleased Bunny hugely, who, 
now that he was comparatively free, almost smiled 
at the fun he was having. All the same the strain 
was telling, and he felt tired. He put his back to 
the tiller and cleared his sheet, to give his arms a 
rest; but his legs ached, now that he had time to 
think about it, and he began to have a very gone and 
empty feeling inside. Then, as if he wasn’t bothered 
enough, he suddenly found that he was very thirsty, 
and would have given anything for a drink of water. 

‘‘Gee!” he said to himself, “it’s queer how every- 
thing strikes a fellow all at once!” And then he 
pulled up his belt another notch and looked back 
at the Olympia speeding after him. 

It was probably an hour longer before the Olympia 
again forced the Beth into the tight place their own 
stupidity had permitted him to escape from. Back 
and forth across the river, tacking or running free, 
twisting and turning as he would. Bunny was out- 
sailed and outpointed, and again found himself near 
the sand-spit, with no alternative but to keep a 
82 


ROUGHING IT 


straight course before the wind with the Olympia 
following and wait till he was boarded. Then — 
well, Bunny didn’t know what would happen then. 

‘‘You won’t get off so easy this time,” the gruff 
voice of Mike called, almost in his ear. “We’ve 
got you all right, and we’ll make you sorry you ever 
started out on this game.” 

There was no mistaking the anger in the tone. 
The men were mad through and through, and did 
not mean to let the boy escape a second time. 

“I’ll catch yer,” Mike went on, “if I stay here 
all night! But I won’t have to — mind that!” 

The bows of the Olympia were even with the stern 
of the Beth now, and only a few yards to port. A 
few minutes later it was only a yard, and Bunny 
was almost dazed with the sound of the rushing 
water between them, the singing of the wind in the 
rigging, and the excitement of it all. He nerved 
himself for the shock of the two boats meeting and 
for the struggle that was sure to follow. He had no 
plan. There was nothing, apparently, he could do. 

“You jump aboard the minute she touches!” 
growled Mike to the other man. “We’ll take the 
kid with us and let his boat go.” 

An instant later the shock of the two vessels com- 
ing together staggered the boy in the stern, and he 
saw the burly form of John leap aboard the Beth. 
The little vessel heeled to the added weight, and 
for a moment the man paused to regain his balance. 
Then he stepped into the cockpit from the bow and 

83 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


made for the boy. Almost without thinking, Bunny 
pulled out the tiller and raised it above his head, 
ready to strike one blow, at any rate. His teeth were 
set and his face pale, but he didn’t mean to give 
up without a struggle. The man stopped, scarcely 
outside of striking distance. 

“Put down the stick!” he said, roughly. “Put it 
down, or it will be the worse for you if you don’t!” 
But Bunny held his ground. 

“Go on and get him!” commanded Mike, on the 
Olympia. “What’s the matter with you } Are you 
afraid of a kid with a tiller in his hand 

The man came with a rush, throwing up his hands 
to ward his head from the expected blow, and the 
boy struck with all his might. With a howl of pain 
the other grappled him, and Bunny felt himself 
borne back against the tiller-head. 

At that moment, while Bunny still struggled help- 
lessly, a long shout sounded across the water. He 
noted the arms clutching him relax, and the body 
bearing him down straighten. Then he looked out 
across the water and saw the Seahorse making for 
them with all speed. 


XI 


BUNNY SCORES 



HERE was no doubt about the menace in that 


1 shout from Captain John aboard the Seahorse. 
He recognized his own vessel, and all the indigna- 
tion he felt at having her stolen burst forth in a yell 
of triumph and rage. Moreover, his keen old eyes 
had seen something of the struggle going on in the 
smaller vessel, and he had made a shrewd guess at 
what it was all about. 

The effect upon the pirates was immediate. 
Bunny’s assailant at once abandoned him and started 
forward to join Mike on the Olympia; but that 
worthy, evidently too scared to think of anything 
except his own safety, had trimmed his sheet and 
was making for the beach with all speed, leaving his 
accomplice behind on the Beth. With an oath the 
man looked about him helplessly, and then, with a 
final glance at the on-rushing Seahorse, jumped into 
the river, and swam toward the shore. 

Bunny kept his wits, and, shipping his tiller, hur- 
riedly trimmed his sheet and started in pursuit; but 
it took some time to get any headway, and he lost 
sight of the swimming man in the dark shadows 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


of the trees on shore. He steered then for the 
Olympia, but before he came up with her the flap- 
ping sail showed that she had been abandoned; the 
robbers were either ashore or very near it, and it 
was useless to follow, as far as he was concerned. 

He went alongside the Olympia, therefore, and 
waited the arrival of the Seahorse. 

In a moment or two he was hailed by Captain John. 

“Hey, there, you Bunny feller, have you got 
’em he cried, as they came up into the wind be- 
side the Beth. 

“No, I haven’t,” answered Bunny, ruefully. 
“They swam for it.” 

“Where’s the sloop?” asked Captain Sam. 

“She’s hard aground on the sand-spit,” Bunny 
answered. “Did you pick up the small boats?” 

“Yes, we’ve got ’em,” said Captain Sam; and by 
this time Captain John was aboard his own vessel. 

“By jimminy,” they heard him call, “I’ve got 
yacht fixin’s aboard here to fit out John Rockyfeller’s 
Lucertania. Say, she’s all right, though. Can’t see 
they’ve hurt her none.” 

Once satisfied that his beloved boat was unhurt. 
Captain John began to ply Bunny with questions, 
and soon the whole story was told, to the great ad- 
miration of all. They discussed what they had 
better do, and all agreed that it would be useless 
to go ashore with a hope of finding the pirates, and 
concluded that the best thing was to get the sloop 
off and hurry back to Blue Point with all speed. 

86 


BUNNY SCORES 


“Say/’ began Captain John, suddenly, in the 
midst of a heated discussion as to the best method 
of floating the sloop — ‘‘say, you Bunny feller, have 
you had anything to eat ?” 

“No, I haven’t, and I’m ’most starved,” Bunny 
answered. 

“I’ll bet you are,” agreed the Captain; and soon 
they found some hard crackers and a jug of water 
for the boy, who, munching them, thought they 
were the best things he had ever tasted. 

“Guess you’re pretty tired, too, ain’t you?” Cap- 
tain John pursued. 

“Yes, pretty tired,” Bunny confessed. 

“Well, you come aboard the Olymp, and leave one 
of these here fellers to sail your vessel home. Then 
we’ll get up to the dock. What do you say, Sam ? 
Guess the folks is some worried, hey ?” 

Captain Sam agreed that it was just as well that 
word should be sent back that everything was all 
right, and he “calculated” that the Strutherses would 
be “kind o’ glad to see Bunny,” and that he could 
take care of the sloop. So the Olympia, with Bunny 
and Captain John aboard, slipped off from the scene 
of the rescue and headed for Blue Point. 

The old boatman insisted that Bunny tell the 
story all over again, and, although he was very sleepy 
and tired and would rather have curled down on the 
cushion in the cabin, he went through it once more, 
answering the Captain’s questions and explaining 
everything as well as he could. 

87 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“And you say you can’t tell what they looked 
like ?” the Captain asked, for the fiftieth time. 

“It was too dark to see their faces,” Bunny ex- 
plained. 

“Not even the feller that boarded you insisted 
the Captain. 

“No, not even him,” Bunny affirmed. “You see, 
he wasn’t there long, and I wasn’t really thinking 
what he looked like. Besides, when he got near 
he had his arms over his face.” 

“Did you hit him hard chuckled the Captain. 

“I tried.” 

“Did he make a noise like he was hurt.?” 

“Yes, I think he did,” said Bunny. 

“Well, that’s somethin’, anyways. But we won’t 
catch ’em. There ain’t no use lookin’. I suspect 
they’ve come from down Barnegat way most likely. 
There’s some queer fellers there.” 

Presently Captain John saw how tired Bunny was, 
and sent him off to the cabin for a nap. 

“I’ll wake you up when we get in,” he promised; 
and Bunny, glad of the chance, was soon fast asleep. 

It seemed only a moment thereafter that Bunny 
became dimly conscious of voices — many voices, 
talking loudly — and as he awoke he heard the sturdy 
tones of Captain John. 

“Well, as I was sayin’, fer nerve, downright nerve 
and sand, that Bunny feller’s got it to give away. 
There he was, just a kid, and stickin’ to them fellers, 
and I guess they was some sore. Him in that little 
88 


BUNNY SCORES 


Beth, that ain’t got ribs in her thicker than a match, 
and skippin’ out of the way of the Olymp, that would 
’a’ smashed her to kindlin’s! As I was sayin’, fer 
plain, old-fashioned grit and sand, that Bunny fel- 
ler’s got all the kids beat I ever see.” 

Then Bunny heard the voice of Mrs. Struthers, 
and he jumped to his feet guiltily. 

‘‘Oh, Captain John, is my boy there?” 

“ Yes’m, here, safe and sound, and, as I was sayin’, 
fer up-to-date sand and grit — ” 

But Bunny was out of the cabin and up the steps 
to meet Mrs. Struthers, who had insisted upon wait- 
ing for him, and gave a little exclamation of delight 
as she took him in her arms. 

“Oh, Bunny,” she cried, “ I don’t care what you’ve 
done, so that you’re back again all safe! We’ve been 
worried so about you!” 

“I’m sorry — ” Bunny began. But Captain John, 
who had followed, cut in sharply: 

“Ain’t no cause to be sorry, as I see. Ain’t you 
saved all this little truck for the summer boarders, 
besides the Olymp? As I was sayin’ — ” 

“Oh, Bunny, tell us all about it!” Bob interrupted. 

“I think we’d better go home to bed,” said Mr. 
Struthers, most sensibly. “Bunny must be tired 
out.” 

“Of course he’s tired,” said Mrs. Struthers. “We’ll 
go at once.” 

But before they could get away there were a great 
number of people who wanted to shake Bunny’s 
89 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


hand and thank him for having saved their boats, 
and, of course, many questions were asked about 
the night’s adventures, so that it was almost day- 
light when Mrs. Struthers started for the cottage 
with ‘‘her boys.” 

As they walked off the pier they could hear Cap- 
tain John’s high voice above the others. 

“As I was sayin’, fer old-fashioned, up-to-date 
nerve and sand, that Bunny feller’s got any kid — or 
man, fer that matter — beat a mile!” And old Cap- 
tain John meant what he said. 


XII 


TIME OUT 

B reakfast was late at the Struthers cottage 
the next day. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t 
much difference between breakfast and luncheon, 
and no two of the family arrived down-stairs at the 
same time. Bunny and Bob, who roomed together 
in the top of the house, roused about nine o’clock, 
talked over the night’s events, and then promptly 
went to sleep again, to wake up later very hungry 
and ready for whatever Mrs. Struthers might call 
the meal. That good lady wanted to hear the story 
of the pirates all over again, and there was little 
else talked of that day, or for several days there- 
after. Everybody in the little colony had a word of 
praise or thanks for Bunny, and some boys might 
have become very vain over it all. But Bunny 
wasn’t given to taking his own exploits seriously, 
and thought, as he said again and again, ^T don’t 
see what else I could have done.” 

And so, being modest as well as brave, added 
greatly to Bunny’s popularity. People liked him 
all the more because he didn’t seem to be any dif- 
ferent after his adventures than before, and were 

91 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


pleased to find that the admiration they showered 
on him hadn’t “spoiled him,” as they put it. 

Not that Bunny wasn’t pleased that every one 
seemed to like him and to think that he had been 
brave for a boy. Of course he liked it, but he was 
just the same as other boys who do things because 
they must be done, and not with any idea of what 
is going to be said about it afterward. 

Bunny had one regret, however. He wished, 
naturally enough, that his father had been there, 
for he had a strong desire to please him, and if, as 
every one said, “he had nerve,” he would have 
liked his father to know it. It was the quality every 
man or boy should possess, so Mr. Reeves had in- 
sisted, and (although Bunny knew it was a mistake 
in this instance) he had attributed the loss of the 
canoe-race to a lack of this essential in his son. 

But what was nerve ? Bunny was puzzled, and 
although he thought about it almost constantly, he 
didn’t come to a very satisfactory conclusion about 
it for some time. 

None of this praise for Bunny caused any envy 
in the hearts of his best friends. Bob Struthers and 
Ted Halliday. They talked it over and over till 
Bunny grew tired of answering questions. 

“Oh, forget it!” he answered one day, when they re- 
newed the subject in the midst of kicking the football. 

“But I want to know,” persisted Ted. “When 
that fellow came aboard the Beth^ weren’t you afraid 
he’d hurt you ?” 


92 


TIME OUT 


“No, I wasn’t,” said Bunny; “that is, I didn’t 
bother about it. The man was there, and that’s all 
there was to it. I didn’t have time to wonder 
whether I was afraid or not.” 

“But you were glad to see the Seahorse^ weren’t 
you ?” demanded Ted. 

“Sure I was,” answered Bunny. “I didn’t think I 
was having the time of my life out there, and, what’s 
more, I was hungry.” 

“Well, I’d have been scared,” Bob confessed, 
candidly. 

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Bunny, positively, 
“you’d have done just the same thing I did. A 
fellow hasn’t time to get scared.” 

“I wish I’d been with you,” said Ted, heartily. 
“It was mighty nervy of you. Bunny.” 

“What is nerve?” questioned Bunny, and the 
others looked at him to see if he were in earnest. 

“Why, you know,” Bob answered, seeing how 
serious he was. 

“I don’t think I do,” returned Bunny. “It 
isn’t just not being afraid of things, because 
you have it when there isn’t any chance of being 
hurt.” 

“How do you mean?” asked Bob. 

“Well, when you’re running a quarter mile,” 
Bunny went on, “you get tired in the last hundred 
yards, and it takes a lot of nerve to finish sometimes; 
but you aren’t afraid of anything, and there isn’t 
any danger of your being hurt.” 

93 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“That’s so,” Bob agreed, for he had run many 
a race like that, and knew. 

“Besides, you can have nerve and be scared of 
things, too,” Bunny continued. “I’m always afraid 
when I’m up in high buildings, and I just hate 
elevators.” 

“Seeing people injured is what gets me,” Bob 
put in. 

“Say, Bunny,” began Ted, who had been silent 
during this conversation, “you do go up in elevators, 
don’t you ?” 

“Sure, but I don’t like it,” Bunny replied. 

“Well, that’s nerve!” Ted announced. 

“Oh, pshaw!” Bunny retorted, sceptically. “I 
just try not to think about myself if I have to go up 
in one of the beastly things.” 

“All the same, that’s what nerve is,” Ted insisted. 
“It’s forgetting about yourself and not wondering 
whether you’re afraid when you go after pirates, or 
thinking how tired you are when you finish a quarter- 
mile race, like Bob here. It’s plugging away and 
doing the best you can, no matter how you feel about 
it. That’s what nerve is, all right.” 

And after discussing the matter further. Bunny 
and Bob agreed that perhaps Ted was correct. 

As the end of the summer approached, both Ted 
Halliday and Bunny became more and more serious 
over the coming football season. They didn’t know 
exactly how they ought to feel toward each other, 
because the traditions of each school demanded that 
94 


TIME OUT 


they should be enemies, and ascribe certain attri- 
butes to the other that each boy found wanting in 
his summer friend. Bob and Bunny talked it over 
often, and neither of them could come to any other 
conclusion than that Ted Halliday was one of the 
nicest fellows they had ever known, even if he did 
go to the Academy. 

‘‘And I tell you what it is. Bob,’’ Bunny declared, 
“there are a number of fellows at Clinton that I 
don’t think are nearly as decent as Ted. Of course, 
I wouldn’t say that at the school, but it’s a fact, all 
the same.” 

“I know what you mean,” Bob answered, “and 
I think so, too, but it would never do to say so; 
and, anyway. Bunny, I don’t believe all the fellows 
at the Academy are like Ted. He’s more like a 
Clinton fellow. I wish he had gone there instead 
of to the old Academy.” 

“Yes, so do I,” agreed Bunny. “He would have 
helped the team a lot. Instead of that, he’ll be doing 
all he can to beat us.” 

“Oh, I’m not afraid of that,” said Bob, who had 
unbounded confidence in Bunny and anything he 
had to do with. 

“ I’m by no means sure,” Bunny returned, feeling- 
ly. “We’re going to have a hard time to win this 
year. I know that now, and you can count on Ted’s 
having a good team, sure!” 

Ted Halliday felt much the same way that Bunny 
and Bob did, but he couldn’t, of course, talk to them 
95 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


about it. He liked both the boys very much indeed, 
and wondered now and then if all the things they 
said at the Academy about Clinton were true. He 
thought about it a good deal, and grew more and 
more sorry that the summer was at an end. 

The last week at the seashore was given up to 
preparation for departure. Boats and canoes had 
to be made ready for the winter, and that took a good 
deal of time. Then, too, Mrs. Struthers had work 
for the boys to do about the cottage, and before they 
realized it the time came when they must separate. 

Bunny left before the rest — principally because 
he wanted to be back at school and have everything 
ready before the football boys came in, and partly 
because Mrs. Struthers wanted Bob at home for a 
few days before she sent him off to Clinton. 

Bunny tried to thank Mrs. Struthers for being so 
good to him, though all he could say was, “ Fve had 
such a fine time, Mrs. Struthers!” But she under- 
stood, and said she was glad she knew him now, 
and that he must not forget that he was one of her 
boys. 

The three made plans for the next summer, when 
they hoped to be together again, and at the end Mrs. 
Struthers put her arms about Bunny and kissed him 
before everybody — at which he couldn’t help blush- 
ing a little, but liked it all the same. 

Ted Halliday went down to the station with the 
others to see Bunny off, and, while they were wait- 
ing, tried to think how he could express the things 
96 


TIME OUT 


he wanted to tell Bunny. And Bunny was feeling 
much the same way, so that when Ted held out his 
hand both were somewhat embarrassed. 

“WeVe had a mighty good time together,” Ted 
began. 

‘‘We certainly have,” Bunny answered, quite as 
much upset as Ted. 

“Well, I was thinking we’d see each other once 
during the football season, and — and though of 
course I want to beat Clinton, I hope you will win 
all your other games.” 

“Thanks,” said Bunny. “I wish you were com- 
ing to Clinton.” 

“Tve been wishing you were going to the Acad- 
emy,” Ted replied; and then they both laughed, 
which relieved the situation at once. 

“I don’t see,” Bunny went on, “why we can’t be 
friends, even if we are against each other in football ?” 

“Neither do I,” answered Ted, heartily. 

“What are you fellows talking about?” asked 
Bob, coming up. 

“We’ve just decided we are going to be friends 
even if we are at different schools,” Bunny explained. 

“Well, I want to be in on that, too!” exclaimed 
Bob; and then and there the three pledged them- 
selves to be friends, no matter what happened or 
where they were, and all three shook hands on it. 

Five minutes later Bunny waved good-bye out of 
the car window, and was soon speeding on his way 
back to school. 


7 


97 


XIII 


THE LINE-UP 



'HE summer had been a glorious one, but for 


A all that Bunny was not sorry to be at school 
again. He took his duties as captain of the football 
team quite seriously, and he wanted to be at work. 
The material was uncertain; some of the boys he 
knew would not be back, and he was anxious to 
find out if any new scholars were expected upon 
whom he might count to help the team. Then, too, 
he felt that the Academy eleven was likely to be 
strong; not that he had any particular information 
on the subject, but because his friendship with Ted 
Halliday had given him considerable respect for 
that young man^s ability in all directions, and he 
knew, moreover, that Ted wouldn’t leave anything 
to chance that might help to win. Also he wanted 
to be at the game again, for he liked it better than any- 
thing else he did, and was happy in the work it entailed. 

It might have been more polite if he had gone 
directly to see Doctor MacHenry, but he didn’t. 
As soon as he had arranged for his trunk to be taken 
to his rooms, he made for the gymnasium to see 
Billy Bryan, the trainer. 


THE LINE-UP 


“So you’re back?” said that individual, shaking 
the boy’s hand. “I’m glad to see you.” 

“And I’m glad to be here, Billy,” said Bunny. 
“How is everything?” 

“Just the same,” replied Billy. “I’m starting to 
get things in shape for the season. Come over here 
and let me show you what I got the doctor to put in 
for me.” 

Billy led the way to one corner of the dressing- 
rooms, and, with a great deal of pride, exhibited a 
wooden box about four feet high. 

“That ’ll take the bruises out of you,” he said. 
And then, noting Bunny’s look of wonder, he ex- 
plained further: “You see, it’s a steam-box. We’ve 
been wanting one for years. I’ll just put one of you 
boys in there and give you a good sweating, and 
you’ll be better than ever. Takes the bumps out of 
you in no time. Finest thing in the business for 
sprains and such - like. Ought to have had one 
long ago.” 

Bunny expressed his delight with as much enthu- 
siasm as he could muster, though, to tell the truth, 
he wasn’t particularly interested. Billy was always 
wanting something he didn’t have; that was his fail- 
ing. But it didn’t in any way keep him from taking 
excellent care of his boys, and there was never any 
work too hard for him to do for them. 

Most people who didn’t know Billy very well 
thought that he was a cross, cranky old man, because 
he seemed to take life so seriously, and, except upon 
: . 99 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


rare occasions, never smiled. Nevertheless, the boys 
thought the world of him, and he deserved it. He 
had seen many generations of Clinton boys come 
and go, and there were a number of men who never 
forgot the old trainer, and would regularly send him 
a reminder of their existence. 

Billy wasn’t foolish, and he hadn’t any fads; but 
he was an autocrat. When he said a thing was to 
be done, woe to the boy who disobeyed. He had 
no authority, although he might have gone to Doc- 
tor MacHenry if he chose, but he never did. Instead 
he would simply ignore the offender, and, as all the 
boys knew that what Billy told them to do was for 
their own and the teams’ good, they always sided 
with him. This “absent treatment,” as the boys 
called it, usually had its effect promptly, and the 
one in disgrace very soon made his peace with Billy. 
And this was easy, for all that was necessary was to 
tell the old trainer that he was ready to do what he 
was told, and that ended the matter. Billy never 
referred to it again, and treated the youngster there- 
after as if nothing had happened. 

“What do you think of the new football rules, 
Billy?” Bunny asked, after he had inspected the 
steam-box inside and out. 

“I wish they’d stop tinkering with them,” was the 
prompt reply. “If they want to make it less dan- 
gerous, why don’t they ask some of us who are 
putting the men in shape to stand the strain ? What 
do coaches and newspaper men know about training 
100 . * 


THE LINE-UP 


athletes ? — and let me tell you, my boy, the training 
is what counts!” 

‘‘But they have made it less dangerous, insisted 
Bunny. 

“Maybe, maybe,” muttered Billy, with a dubious 
shake of his head; “but what they ought to do at 
once is to have another set of rules for boys. It 
isn’t right that youngsters should be playing a game 
that’s hard enough on grown men in the finest con- 
dition.” 

“Oh, nobody wants that, Billy,” Bunny pro- 
tested. “Why, we are only getting ready for college 
when we play at school, and we would have to learn 
the game all over again.” 

“It needn’t be changed as much as that. But 
what’s the use of our talking? Have you seen the 
doctor ?” 

“Not yet,” replied Bunny. “I was going right 
away after I had seen you.” 

“Then off you go now,” said Billy, positively. 
“You should have gone there first. It’s not showing 
the proper respect, and — well, he’s not looking as 
I’d like to see him. The doctor is getting to be an 
old man. Bunny, and he’s the best friend you boys 
have about here.” 

“ He isn’t sick, is he ?” Bunny asked, in some 
alarm, for he was very fond of the doctor, although 
he was always a little in awe of him. 

“I’m not saying that,” Billy went on; “he is just 
getting on in years, like some others of us. Go and 

lOI 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


see him, and then you can come back and tell me 
what you’ve been doing all summer. You look 
pretty hearty yourself.” 

Bunny went off at once, and the doctor welcomed 
him cordially. To Bunny he seemed the same, but 
to older eyes he was a trifle worn. He looked tired 
and gray, but his voice was just as strong and just 
as kindly as ever. 

‘‘Well, my boy. I’m glad to see you. You look 
as if the seashore had done you good,” was his 
greeting. 

“Billy said you weren’t so well, sir,” Bunny 
replied. 

“Oh, Billy!” exclaimed the doctor, smiling. 
“ Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s been having 
me install some sort of a steam-box for you boys, 
and wants to put me in it. Says it will make me 
twenty years younger. I told him to get into it 
himself. Thought he needed it more than I did. 
I’m all right, and ready for the coming year.” 

“Are there any new boys for the team, sir ?” asked 
Bunny, anxiously. 

“Yes, I think there are three or four that will 
perhaps help you,” answered the doctor. “Of 
course. I’m not an expert on what constitutes a good 
football player, but they look pretty sizable young 
men, and ought to make something for you. Two 
of them inform me that they have played before.” 

“What are their names, sir asked Bunny. “I’d 
like to keep a lookout for them when they come.” 

102 


THE LINE-UP 


“Walters and Thornton/’ replied the doctor. 
“ But, tell me, have you seen your father 

“Yes, he came down to Blue Point one after- 
noon,” Bunny replied. 

“Did you have a nice time together?” the doctor 
asked. 

“Well, sir, he was there so little, and — and I don’t 
think we had a really nice time.” The boy hesitated 
and showed his embarrassment. 

“Come,” said the doctor, “out with it! What was 
the matter?” 

“Oh, it wasn’t anything in particular,” an- 
swered Bunny. “He stayed just long enough to see 
Bob Struthers beat me in a canoe-race, and then he 
went away.” 

“Humph!” grunted the doctor. “Well, what did 
he have to say ?” 

“He told me I should have won the race, but that 
I didn’t have the nerve to finish. That I gave up, 
and — and — ” 

“And did you demanded the doctor. ‘ 

“No, sir, I didn’t,” Bunny answered. “You see, 
I wanted Bob to win because — well, because his 
mother had been awfully good to me, and I didn’t 
care; so I let him win, though I did pretend I was 
trying as hard as I could.” 

“Why didn’t you tell your father that?” said the 
doctor. 

“Because,” Bunny answered, “he seemed so sure 
of what he was saying that I thought if I told him 
103 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


what Fd done he would think it was just an excuse. 
And besides, sir, it’s such an easy thing to say after 
you’ve been beaten that way. He might have 
thought — oh, he might have thought anything.” 

“Perhaps you were right, my boy; it was better 
not to say anything about it. But Fm sorry your 
father has received a wrong impression.” 

“Yes, so am I,” answered Bunny. “He seems 
to think having nerve is everything.” 

“Fm not sure but that nerve has a good deal to 
do with most things, only you will learn as you grow 
older that there are several kinds of nerve.” 

“Yes, sir, I suppose there are,” Bunny agreed. 
And presently, after another hearty hand-shake, he 
went back to the gymnasium. 

That first week passed quickly, and before Bunny 
knew it the school year had begun, and the campus 
was filled with boys old and new. 

Bob came back, much pleased to find that Bunny 
had fixed up their rooms in Barton Hall, and that 
all he had to do was to put his clothes away and 
make himself at home. 

“What are the prospects for the team he asked, 
almost as soon as he had arrived. 

“I can’t tell yet,” Bunny answered. “The doc- 
tor says that there are two, anyway, that he thinks 
will do. Walters and Thornton are their names.” 

“Big chaps.?” asked Bob. 

“I haven’t seen them yet,” Bunny replied. 

“I came up in the train with two fellows,” Bob 
104 


THE LINE-UP 


went on, “who were pretty big, but I didn’t think 
much of them. They spent most of their time in 
the smoking-car.” 

“There are a lot of fellows think they’re big when 
they smoke,” Bunny said. “They’ll stop it when 
Billy gets after them. Say, how is your mother 

“Fine!” answered Bob. “Sent her love to you, 
and I’ve got a box of stuff to eat in my trunk.” 

“Good!” returned Bunny. “Makes me hungry 
just to think of it.” 

“How’s Billy?” asked Bob. 

“Oh, he’s just the same,” Bunny replied. “He’s 
got a new-fangled steam-box, and he wants the old 
doctor to get in it. Think of it! Says he’ll make 
another man of him. He’s just the same old Billy.” 

“Heard anything of Hargrave 

“Yes; he’s written, saying he can’t get down till 
some time in October. Tells me I’m to make the 
fellows fall on the ball and run down on punts, and 
to let Billy have his own way till he comes. I’m 
sorry he can’t get here sooner. He’s a fine man, 
Hargrave.” 

“Yes, I suppose he is,” agreed Bob, “though I 
must say I never liked him as much as you did.” 

“That’s because you don’t know him,” Bunny 
maintained. 

“I’m not going to argue about it,” Bob replied, 
discreetly. “There’s no use in that — only I don’t 
like him.” 

“There are a lot of fellows say that,” retorted 
105 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Bunny, a little nettled at Bob’s tone. ‘‘All the same, 
he’s square, and he’s a good coach.” 

“Don’t get huffy about it,” Bob protested. “I’m 
willing to admit anything you say, only you can’t 
expect me to like him if I don’t.” 

“You’re prejudiced!” Bunny grumbled. It had 
always annoyed him that Bob couldn’t see what a 
really fine man Hargrave was. 

“Of course, I stick to you, outside,” Bob an- 
swered; “but I can’t help thinking there is some 
reason for being dissatisfied with the way Hargrave 
has been coaching. We have lost to Academy for 
two years in succession.” 

“I expect there will be some kicking,” Bunny 
agreed. “Wallace and Crawford never did like 
him. I guess I’m going to have my own troubles 
all right before the season is over. There’s more 
than just glory in being captain of a football team.” 


XIV 


PRELIMINARY PRACTICE 



ALTERS and Thornton, the two new scholars 


V V in whom Bunny had a particular interest on 
account of their size and weight, were not quite like 
the rest of Clinton boys. They had never attended 
a boarding-school before, and, being older than any 
of their associates, had rather queer notions of their 
own importance. 

Walters had been spoiled by having too much 
money and indulgence generally. He was used to 
doing exactly as he pleased at home, where he had 
been tutored most of his life, and had only come to 
Clinton for a year before he went to college. 

Thornton hailed from the same little town, and, 
being a year younger than Walters, was entirely under 
the influence of his friend — so much so, in fact, that 
he never had any opinion of his own on any subject. 

However, both of them were heavily built for their 
age, and, knowing that they would help to stiffen 
the line. Bunny was most anxious to get them out. 

want to know if you two fellows won’t try for 
the football team he said one day as he met them 
on the campus. 


107 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“Well, I don’t know,” began Walters, in a very 
superior way, “whether it’s worth my while to play 
or not.” 

“Neither do I,” said Thornton, promptly. 

“We need big men,” Bunny went on, pleasantly, 
hoping to make a favorable impression. “Of course, 
everybody does what they can for the honor of the 
school, you know, and we’re going to have a hard 
time to beat the Academy this year, anyway.” 

“I don’t care about the school,” Walters said, 
rather disagreeably. “You see, I’m only here for 
this year, and then I’m going to college. Besides, I 
don’t see what difference it makes with a prep, school 
whether you win or lose. Nobody cares.” 

“Neither do I,” Thornton announced. 

“It makes a lot of difference to us,” answered 
Bunny. “You’ll find that all the fellows here are 
expected to do what they can to help the teams.” 

“Well, I don’t care about that, but I’ll think it 
over. What places have you open ? I like to play 
behind the line, you know,” Walters explained. 

“So do I,” said Thornton. 

“I should have thought you were line men,” 
Bunny returned. He was rather inclined to laugh, 
they were so awfully grown-up; but he wished them 
to come out and try for the team, and didn’t want 
to do anything that might hurt their feelings. 

“I’ll think it over,” Walters repeated. 

“So will I,” Thornton joined in. 

“We have our first practice at three-thirty this 
io8 


PRELIMINARY PRACTICE 


afternoon, so Til hope to see you,” Bunny said, 
cheerfully. 

“Who are you, anyway: asked Walters. 

“Oh, Fm Reeves, the captain of the football 
team,” said Bunny. “I thought you knew.” 

Both of these superior beings looked at him as if 
he were some sort of freak, and again Bunny was in- 
clined to laugh, but he kept a straight face as well 
as he could. 

“Fll think it over,” Walters said, finally. 

“So will I,” echoed Thornton; and Bunny went 
off, chuckling, to tell Bob about them. 

“They must be the same fellows who came up in 
the train with me,” Bob said, when Bunny had fin- 
ished describing his interview with Walters and 
Thornton. “They talked about automobiles, and 
how sorry they were they couldn’t have a car at 
school with them. WeTl take some of that out of 
them before they’ve been here long.” 

“Yes, but that doesn’t help the football team,” 
said Bunny, gravely, “and we need weight in the 
line. Somehow I don’t believe we can do much 
with them, though I mean to try. They don’t seem 
to care, that’s the worst of it.” 

“Well, of course, they’ve only just come,” said 
Bob. “You can’t expect them to have much school 
spirit yet.” 

“No, of course not,” Bunny agreed; “but you 
expect to see them take an interest. They act as if 
they were doing the school a favor, to hear them 
109 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


talk about how theyTl ‘think it over/ And Thorn- 
ton! He just says ‘Me too/ like a parrot/’ 

“I suppose they are living in the new dormi- 
tories ?” said Bob. 

“Sure!” answered Bunny. “Everything about 
them is new.” 

The first afternoon’s football practice was inter- 
esting chiefly for the number of men who came out, 
not only to play but to see. The whole school ad- 
journed in a body to the athletic field as soon as 
they could escape from recitations, and there was 
quite a crowd in the grandstand. Bunny and the 
old trainer made no effort to do anything very much, 
and were most interested in getting acquainted with 
the new boys who turned up and in looking over 
the material. A summer makes quite a difference 
to growing boys, and some of the youngsters who 
the year before had not been thought of as pos- 
sibilities had returned looking twice as big as they 
did before. 

On the other hand, there were several of. last 
year’s squad who sat in the grandstand and showed 
no inclination to take part — fellows who. Bunny 
knew, would make many excuses and would have 
to# be teased, but who would be hard at it in a week. 
The superior Walters, with his satellite Thornton, 
sat apart and sneered. 

“Catch me playing with a lot of kids like that; 
I’d hurt them,” said Walters, scornfully. 

“So would I,” agreed Thornton. 

no 


PRELIMINARY PRACTICE 


“I don’t believe I’m going to like this place, any- 
how,” Walters went on; ‘‘these chaps are all so young 
and goody-goody.” 

“That’s right,” said Thornton. 

“And old Mac says we can’t smoke. What do 
you think of it!” Walters continued. “I wonder if 
he tells every fellow that ? He looked pretty sharp 
when he said it, too. He seemed grouchy to me.” 

“He certainly did,” Thornton agreed; “but, I say, 
that’s all rot — the idea of men like us not being 
allowed to smoke. I’d like a cigarette this minute.” 

“Wonder if we couldn’t take a sneak and have 
one ?” Walters suggested. 

“Let us try it, anyway,” replied Thornton; and 
the two strolled away together, while the boys in the 
grandstand watched them. 

There was no lack of comment as they left the 
field, and Walters and Thornton would have been 
very much surprised had they heard the general 
verdict, which was far from complimentary. 

Out on the field Bunny conferred with the old 
trainer. 

“ It doesn’t look so badly, does it, Billy ?” he said, 
cheerfully. 

“I don’t know,” was the pessimistic answer. “I 
don’t have any use for those fellows that have to be 
coaxed. It always takes a week or two before they 
come out, and we haven’t any too much time as 
it is.” 

“I’ll get after them right off,” Bunny promised; 

III 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


and the minute practice was over for the afternoon 
he started out to find Wallace and Crawford. 

He met them on their way to their rooms, and 
immediately broached the subject. 

“What’s the matter with you two chumps.^” he 
began, banteringly. “Why weren’t you out to-day ?” 

“I’m not sure I’ll have time to play this year,” 
said Wallace. “You see. I’ve got a lot of Latin to 
make up, and — ” 

“Get out!” retorted Bunny. “You just want me 
to tell you that we can’t get along without you. 
Well, we can’t, and that’s a fact. What’s your 
trouble, Crawford he ended, turning to the other. 

“Oh, I don’t think you need us,” returned Craw- 
ford, a trifle sullenly. “You seem to have all the 
men you want.” 

“Now, what’s the use of talking like that ?” Bunny 
went on, seriously. “You know as well as I do that 
we need you two fellows in the worst way. I met 
Ted Halliday, of the Academy, this summer at the 
seashore, and I know they’re going to have a peach 
of a team, and we’ll have to work like slaves to beat 
them. That’s why I want everybody to get out as 
soon as possible; we haven’t a minute to waste.” 

“Halliday’s a mucker, isn’t he?” said Wallace. 

“No, he isn’t, not one bit,” returned Bunny, 
warmly. “I thought that, too, till I saw a lot of 
him. He’s one of the nicest fellows you ever met.” 

“You’ll have to show me,” said Crawford, scep- 
tically. “That kind doesn’t grow at the Academy.” 

II2 


PRELIMINARY PRACTICE 


‘‘YouTl change your mind, Bunny, after the 
game,” Wallace put in. 

‘‘No, I won’t,” insisted Bunny. “I tell you, we’ve 
an idea over here that the Academy isn’t all right. 
I believe most of them are just like we are.” 

“I don’t think the seashore agrees with you,” 
Wallace laughed, “telling us there are nice fellows 
at the Academy! Let me feel your pulse.” 

“All the same, it’s true,” Bunny replied. “Any- 
how, this isn’t telling me you’ll be out to practice 
to-morrow, both of you. You must come, and that’s 
all there is to it.” 

“I’ll have to get another pair of shoes first,” said 
Wallace; “my old ones are no good any more.” 

“You can wear them till the others come,” Bunny 
answered. “I want you both out to-morrow, shoes 
or no shoes.” 

“Is Hargrave coming back to coach?” asked 
Crawford. 

“Sure!” exclaimed Bunny. He knew that neither 
of them liked Hargrave particularly, but he didn’t 
mean to show it. 

Wallace grunted. “ It’s a pity we can’t get a good 
coach,” he said. “ I’d feel a lot more like coming out.” 

“Them’s my sentiments,” Crawford cut in. “I’d 
rather we didn’t have any coach than Hargrave.” 

“Well, we won’t argue about it,” Bunny returned, 
diplomatically. “What I’m interested in is to get 
you fellows out. Tell me you’ll be on the field to- 
morrow, and I’ll let you go to dinner.” 

8 113 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


‘‘All right/’ said Wallace, rather grudgingly. 

“And you, too, Crawford ?” Bunny insisted. 

“I guess so,” was the unenthusiastic reply. 

“That’s good!” exclaimed Bunny, cheerfully. 
“The quicker we get to work the better, and we’re 
going to win from the Academy this year, understand 
that!” And he started off. 

“You’ll need a new coach, then,” Wallace called 
after him, but Bunny only laughed in reply. 

All the same. Bunny was far from liking this 
attitude toward Hargrave. Wallace, in particular, 
was a good football player, and his word had con- 
siderable influence in the school. He knew, also, 
that there had been many complaints among the 
boys last year because they lost the Academy game, 
and some said it was because Hargrave didn’t know 
how to coach any more, while others insisted that he 
didn’t put the best men on the team. As a matter of 
fact, they had been beaten two years in succession, 
and, as is usually the case, the blame fell on the 
coach. But Bunny knew something of Hargrave’s 
difficulties in the previous years — the internal dis- 
sensions, petty jealousies, and half-hearted effort on 
the part of those who thought they were not being 
well treated. He knew that the coach had been ac- 
cused of favoritism because, when they asked who 
would make the best captain, he had named Bunny 
Reeves, and didn’t hesitate to show that he was 
pleased after the election. 

Bunny hoped to avoid all discontent this autumn. 


PRELIMINARY PRACTICE 


and to lead a united team through the season. He 
knew that it was only in this way that they could 
expect a victory over their Academy rivals. But 
these few remarks of Wallace and Crawford showed 
what was in their minds, and he was not very cheer- 
ful when he arrived at his rooms at Barton Hall. 

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Bob, when 
he came in. 

“Oh, nothing, except Fm worried about this old 
football team,” Bunny replied. 

“What’s up.?” asked his room-mate. 

“Wallace and Crawford,” was the significant an- 
swer. 

“Humph!” grunted Bob. “I guess you can al- 
ways find trouble there. Aren’t they coming out ?” 

“Oh yes, they’ll be on the field to-morrow.” 

“Then what’s the trouble?” demanded Bob. 

“Nothing — yet,” returned Bunny, slowly — and 
that was all he would say. 


XV 


ON THE DEFENSIVE 

B y the end of the following week all the pros- 
pective players were on the field, and the out- 
look for the team improved daily. Wallace and 
Crawford kept their promises, and, more than that, 
were working hard. Even the superior Walters and 
his shadow Thornton (by this time called ‘‘Me Too” 
by almost every one) came out and did fairly well, 
considering everything. They still acted as if they 
were doing the school a favor, and resented it some- 
what when Bunny insisted that they play in the 
line, but, all in all, they managed creditably enough. 
They had already discovered that their grown-up 
airs made no impression, and were less haughty in 
consequence. Altogether everything seemed to be 
going as well as possible, and Billy Bryan, highly 
pleased, attributed it all to the new steam-box. 

“I tell you, young man,” he would say to Bunny 
after every practice, “it makes a difference whether 
they feel sore or not, and that box takes it all out 
of them quick. That’s the thing that does it, and we 
should have had it long ago. I’d like to get the doctor 
in there. It would make him twenty years younger.” 

ii6 *- 


ON THE DEFENSIVE 


But Bunny was far from satisfied. There was an 
undercurrent of discontent among all the boys, or 
at least he thought there was, although he didn’t 
show that he realized that anything was amiss. He 
would find two or three of them talking together in 
the dressing-room, and noticed that they stopped at 
once when he put in an appearance. Also, there 
was a rather universal pessimism in regard to the 
final game with the Academy. A good many of the 
boys said openly that ^‘they didn’t have a chance,” 
and that sort of spirit Bunny knew was fatal. But 
he couldn’t tell where the trouble lay or who was 
making it, though he suspected the cause. Some- 
times he said to himself that he was just nervous 
and was worrying about nothing, but he couldn’t 
shake himself free of the feeling that something was 
wrong. 

As far as the practice went, he of course was im- 
patient. That was to be expected, for no one is ever 
satisfied with a football team — that is, no captain or 
coach; but that wasn’t the thing that caused him 
the most anxiety. 

Bob, who was ever loyal to Bunny, heard of the 
trouble through one of the small boys in the school, 
and one evening, while they were studying, spoke 
out. 

‘‘Say, Bunny,” he began, “there’s going to be 
some grumbling over Hargrave, I’m thinking. Lit- 
tle Peters said he heard Crawford and Wallace talk- 
ing about it.” 


117 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“What did they say?’’ asked Bunny, eagerly. 

“The kid didn’t seem very sure, except that they 
were going to do something to keep him from com- 
ing back.” 

“I’m not surprised at Crawford’s trying to do 
that,” Bunny said. “He’s had it in for Hargrave 
ever since last year, when he wasn’t given a place 
over Bolton. As if he was as good as Bolton! Why, 
it didn’t take Hargrave — any one could tell that!” 

“He wanted to be captain, too,” remarked Bob, 
casually. 

“No,” Bunny replied, “I don’t think he ever 
thought of being captain; but Wallace did, all right. 
I wish he were.” 

“Well, you know the way I think about Har- 
grave,” Bob went on : “I believe it would be a good 
idea to make a change, but I don’t say so to any 
one but you.” 

Bunny nodded. He could trust Bob to stand by 
him, even if he didn’t always agree in private. 

“ But who else can they get ?” he asked, after a 
moment’s silence. 

“I don’t know,” said Bob. 

“They can’t get any one that is any good,” Bunny 
went on, heatedly. “It makes me tired, the way 
these fellows go on. You might think Hargrave 
hadn’t anything else to do but to come here and 
coach this football team — that we’re doing him a 
favor to let him!” 

“I’m not arguing about it,” Bob replied. “I 

ii8 


ON THE DEFENSIVE 


don’t want to have anything to do with the business. 
I heard that Wallace and Crawford were going to 
get some one else, and I thought you ought to 
know.” 

But who can they get persisted Bunny, who 
was distinctly upset and annoyed. 

“How do I know.?” answered Bob. “I told you 
I hadn’t anything to do with it.” 

Bunny relapsed into silence. Presently he broke 
forth again. 

“It makes me tired! Crawford and Wallace stir- 
ring up all this trouble when they ought to be setting 
an example to the younger fellows! They’re jealous!” 

Bob wisely kept silent; but Bunny could not study 
any more, and every now and then broke out into 
a tirade upon the people who always wanted some- 
thing for themselves without considering any one 
else. 

“I don’t care whether they want Hargrave or 
not,” he said at last. “I don’t see what they have 
to do with it, and they’ll have a hard time finding 
another coach.” 

A few days later Bob came in with another rumor. 

“I hear that Wallace has asked Tom Cary, the 
old centre, to come and coach,” he announced. 

Bunny flung down a book he was reading and 
walked across the floor in a rage. 

“Tom Cary!” he burst out. “Why, he hasn’t 
had anything to do with football since he left here. 
He didn’t make the team at college, and I don’t 
119 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


believe he knows the first thing about the modern 
game. Why, he was centre on the team when I 
was just a kid, and the game is altogether different 
now. I like Tom. He’s a nice fellow, all right, 
but he won’t do for a coach, and I don’t believe he’ll 
come, anyway.” 

“They say he will,” Bob went on. “Wasn’t Har- 
grave coaching when he was here 

“Of course he was,” Bunny went on; “and, what’s 
more, he’s been coaching ever since, and he knows 
the game. I tell you, whether Hargrave can coach 
or not, I think it isn’t decent to tell him we don’t 
want him and get some one else, after all he’s done 
for the school. Why, he wouldn’t even take his 
railroad fare from New York, and goes back and 
forth every day, so he can be at his business early 
in the morning.” 

“Yes, I must say he’s been mighty loyal to the 
school,” Bob agreed. “If it hadn’t been for him, 
I don’t know where we would have been. But I 
say, Bunny, what can you do if a fellow like that 
really isn’t good enough 

“He is good enough,” Bunny burst out. “Can’t 
you take my word for it ? Don’t you suppose I want 
the team to win, and wouldn’t I do anything rather 
than have it lose ? It’s all rot to say Hargrave isn’t 
a good coach. He’s one of the best in the business.” 

“You can’t convince Wallace and Crawford of 
it, and they’re talking a lot to the other fellows.” 

“I know they are,” said Bunny, gloomily, “and 
120 


ON THE DEFENSIVE 


I suppose there will be trouble over it sooner or 
later. I wish Wallace had been made captain.” 

The trouble came soon enough, as Bunny ex- 
pected. 

One evening after dinner Wallace and Crawford 
came up to the boys’ rooms. 

They entered awkwardly, and Bunny knew at 
once that something unusual was to be expected. 
So did Bob, for he promptly made an excuse and left. 

“We came up to consult about football. Bunny,” 
Wallace began. “The fellows on the squad have 
been talking lately about the coach.” 

“Oh, they have .?” said Bunny, as if this was news 
to him. 

“Yes,” Crawford cut in; “they heard that Har- 
grave was coming back again.” 

“Why, of course he is!” Bunny replied, heartily. 
“I told you that a week ago.” 

“The fellows think we ought to have some one 
else,” Wallace went on. “Of course, Hargrave used 
to be a fine coach, but in the last two years — ” 

“Oh, I’ve heard all that,” Bunny interrupted. 
“ I don’t know what most of the fellows think, but I 
do know it wasn’t Hargrave’s fault, and so do you, 
Wallace. You were on the team.” 

“Well, I think he made a mistake not putting 
Crawford in last year, for one thing,” Wallace went 
on, “and in other ways, too. He doesn’t seem to 
know anything about the forward pass, and he 
hasn’t given us any trick — ” 

I2I 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“What’s the use of talking?” Crawford interrupted. 
“The fellows have gotten together and appointed us 
a committee to come and see you about changing 
coaches. They all voted for it.” 

“They did!” exclaimed Bunny. “And who do 
they think they can get in his place ?” 

“There’s Tom Cary, he’ll come,” said Crawford. 

“ How do you know ?” asked Bunny. 

“Well,” answered Wallace, with some hesitation, 
“some of us have heard from him.” 

“Did you tell him Hargrave was coming back?” 
Bunny demanded. 

“Oh, I guess he knew that,” replied Crawford. 

“Do you really think he is as good a coach as 
Hargrave ?” asked Bunny. 

“Sure!” they answered in chorus. 

“He’s been following the game right along,” add- 
ed Wallace. 

“And you say all the squad wants this change?” 
Bunny asked. 

“Yes, all of them,” replied Crawford. 

“Suppose they don’t get what they want ?” There 
was a threat in the question that the others felt. 

“Well, I’ll tell you what they’ll do,” Wallace re- 
torted: “they won’t play any more till you get an- 
other coach!” 

“ Is that it ?” said Bunny, his anger rising. “They’ll 
have Tom Cary or they won’t play ?” 

“That’s about it,” said Crawford. “They asked us 
to come and see what you were going to do about it.” 

122 


ON THE DEFENSIVE 


For some moments Bunny didn’t reply; then at 
last he said, “I’ll have to think about this, but I’ll 
let the team know at practice to-morrow.” 

Bunny thought of little else for the next twenty- 
four hours. The situation was a trying one, because 
whatever happened was likely to be disastrous to 
the team. Moreover, there was no one to advise 
him. Doctor MacHenry made it a rule not to in- 
terfere with the athletic management, and this sort 
of thing had to be settled by the boys themselves. 
Billy, he knew, would fume, but give no practical 
advice. And, further, there wasn’t really anything 
to do if the fellows had decided as Wallace and 
Crawford had said. 

After practice next day Bunny told the football 
squad that he wanted to see them in the gymnasium 
after they had dressed. When they were all there 
he stood on the little platform and spoke to them 
of what Wallace and Crawford had reported about 
the coach. 

“I think,” he went on, “you fellows might have 
said something to me about it before you made up 
your minds. Of course, you knew, I suppose, that 
I was for Hargrave, and thought there wouldn’t be 
any use in talking it over. Well, Wallace and Craw- 
ford say that if you don’t have some one else than 
Hargrave you won’t play. Is that true ?” 

Bunny looked down at the boys before him, and 
they, gazing back at his white, determined face, 
seemed to hesitate. 


123 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“Why don’t you say something?” he asked. 

“We all decided what to do,” Wallace retorted 
for the crowd. 

“Yes,” answered Bunny, “that’s what you told 
me before, but I want to hear what the fellows say 
themselves. Now, all those who won’t play unless 
we get another coach say ‘Aye.’” 

There was a parse for a moment, and then a loud 
“Aye!” sounded throughout the gymnasium. 

Bunny’s face went paler still, but he squared his 
shoulders resolutely. 

“Very well,” he said, in a strong, hard voice — 
“very well, get another coach, and while you are 
about it get another captain, too!” Then he turned 
on his heel and left them. 


XVI 


OUT OF BOUNDS 



‘HE news that Bunny had given up the cap- 


i taincy of the football team spread through the 
school rapidly. Every one was talking about it 
before dinner was over that night, and many a curi- 
ous glance was cast in his direction as he sat silently 
in the dining-room. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” was the only 
answer he would give when the boys asked him 
what the trouble was, and that was all the satis- 
faction his schoolmates could obtain from him. 

There was, of course, a prompt division of sym- 
pathy among the boys when the cause of the trouble 
was made known by the other members of the squad, 
but there was a large majority who sided with Bun- 
ny Reeves in the beginning. 

It is not to be denied that there was a very general 
dissatisfaction over Hargrave. There was a more 
or less universal sentiment that he was far from being 
a good coach ; and this was not altogether unreason- 
able, for those who sit in the grandstand judge only 
by the results, and the two successive defeats seemed 
to point unmistakably to Hargrave’s incompetency. 


125 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


But with Bunny the case was entirely different. 
All the boys knew that he was far and away the best 
football player in the school. They had seen him 
do splendid work year after year in spite of defeats, 
and attributed to him the fact that they had not 
been worse beaten. Moreover, he was very popular, 
so that those who were ready enough to make a fight 
to secure a new coach were far from willing to see 
another captain. 

Meanwhile, Bunny himself was torn between his 
anger at the way the fellows had acted and his re- 
gret over what he believed would cause the failure 
of their football season. He didn’t see how this 
dissatisfaction and conflict could be patched up so 
that all discontent would be eliminated. He was 
sure that there would be hard feelings among the 
members of the squad which would last out the en- 
tire year, and that, he knew, was fatal to success. 
He was bitterly disappointed, and inclined to blame 
himself for not having taken measures to avoid the 
trouble, only he didn’t see just what he could have 
done. Nor was he at all certain what his future 
action would be. 

Luckily he had all the next day, which was Sun- 
day, and the following Monday morning to puzzle 
over it, for he realized that the practice that after- 
noon would settle what was to be the outcome of 
the controversy. 

He was assured that same evening that he would 
have support among the football squad, for a num- 
126 


OUT OF BOUNDS 


ber of the fellows came over to Barton Hall to 
tell him that they would stand by him through thick 
and thin if he would only tell them what he wanted 
them to do. 

But Bunny would not tell them. He reiterated 
that he had made his position clear, and it was for 
the fellows who had brought about the situation to 
settle it. 

"‘But, Bunny,’’ Bob Struthers said to him when 
they were alone, “don’t you know that Wallace and 
Crawford will be talking, and are sure to lay all the 
blame oh you ? You ought to say something.” 

“I don’t see it that way,” Bunny replied. “There 
isn’t anything for me to say. And, what’s more, I 
don’t want you to talk, either.” 

“I’ll talk if I want to,” Bob retorted. He was 
much upset over the affair. 

“No, you won’t,” Bunny insisted. “Every one 
will think you are just expressing my opinions, and 
I haven’t any — ^yet.” 

This Bob realized was true, for the two were so 
intimate that they were always classed together in 
any question of school politics. 

“Of course, you know the way I feel about Har- 
grave,” Bob said, hesitatingly, as if he really wanted 
to agree with Bunny in the matter, but couldn’t. 

“Yes, I do,” Bunny returned, “and it isn’t that 
part of it that makes me sore over this business. I 
admit that the fellows who play should have a say 
in who is to coach. I never even thought they hadn’t 
127 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


a right to express their opinions on the subject, but 
I don’t think it was fair that they should go off and 
vote not to play without hearing the other side of 
the case. It wasn’t decent not to say a word to me 
about it.” 

This Bob agreed with thoroughly, and couldn’t 
blame Bunny for being bitter over it. 

‘‘That was all Wallace and Crawford,” he said. 

“That doesn’t excuse the other fellows!” Bunny 
declared, positively. “It wasn’t square, and that’s 
all there is to it. Of course, I know that Wallace 
and Crawford are at the bottom of it. Listen to 
this,” and Bunny took a letter out of his pocket. 

“Who is that from.?” asked Bob. 

“It’s from Tom Cary.” And Bunny proceeded 
to read as follows: 

“‘Dear Bunny, — There is a fellow named Wallace at 
the school who has been writing to me to come and coach 
the team for you. I don’t see why you couldn’t have 
scribbled a line yourself, but I suppose you are busy. I 
can’t remember this chap Wallace; he probably came 
after my time. Of course, I shall be glad to help you out 
as much as I can; but where is Hargrave ? I didn’t sup- 
pose you could drive him away from Clinton with a club 
during the football season. Really, you can’t find a better 
coach than he is. He is up in the game, and I know that 
a number of colleges have been after him. I suppose he’s 
too busy. He’s making quite a reputation in New York, 
and probably he hasn’t the time to go to Clinton. Try to 
persuade him to help you out for a week or two before the 
128 


OUT OF BOUNDS 


Academy game, at any rate. I’ll see him myself and urge 
him to do it, and I shall be glad to do all I can, though 
it won’t be much, for I haven’t kept up with the new game. 
Get Hargrave if you can, but let me hear from you in any 
event, and tell me what the prospects are, for it is about 
time that Clinton won from the Academy. I shall see the 
game. I haven’t missed one for years, and I don’t mean 
to begin at this late date. Good luck, and be sure to write. 

“‘Sincerely, Thomas L. Cary.’ 

“No^v, what do you think of that?” demanded 
Bunny as he finished. 

“Humph!” grunted Bob. “You might think 
Wallace was the whole thing.” 

“Never mind that. You heard what Tom Cary 
has to say about Hargrave,” Bunny insisted, “and 
yet Tm expected to agree with a lot of fellows who 
don’t know anything about it! It makes me tired!” 
And Bunny stuffed the letter in his pocket and 
strode up and down the room angrily. 

The next day the school buzzed over the football 
situation. Nothing else was talked of, and there 
was much speculation as to the outcome. Every one 
wanted to know what Bunny thought of it, and what 
he was going to do. Bob Struthers was questioned 
by all the boys he met, and many of those who had 
voted against Hargrave said openly that if Bunny 
wouldn’t reconsider his action they would, and were 
willing to have any one coach he named. A number 
of fellows went to Bunny’s room to tell him this, but 
he only shook his head, insisting stubbornly that he 
9 129 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


hadn’t anything more to do with it* They begged 
him not to give up the captaincy, and still — rather 
disagreeably, it must be admitted — he held out, 
and would give them no answer. 

Unquestionably this attitude of Bunny’s made an 
unfavorable impression, to say the least, and some 
of the fellows remarked, after they had gone away, 
that he was “just a sorehead who wouldn’t play if he 
didn’t have his own way.” Bob, who knew some- 
thing of what was going on in the school, saw that 
the sentiment for and against Bunny was becoming 
more equally divided, and was very much worried; 
but his room-mate still refused to let him talk. 

“But they’ll elect Wallace captain for sure if 
things go on like this,” Bob protested, “and that 
will spoil everything.” 

“Let them do what they like. It’s up to them,” 
Bunny reiterated, and nothing would induce him to 
change this position. 

The fact is that Bunny was not only angry at the 
way the football squad had acted, but he was hurt 
that it should seem necessary for him, after all these 
years he had been playing for Clinton, to deny the 
things that those opposed to him were saying. He 
knew that many believed his attitude in the matter 
was a result of his caring more for the captaincy and 
for having his own way than for the success of the 
team, but he was too proud to deny it. 

Sunday afternoon Bunny went off alone for a walk 
in the woods. He wanted to think, for he hadn’t 
130 


OUT OF BOUNDS 


made up his mind what he should do. He realized 
that so long as he was hearing rumors of what the 
other fellows were saying he would be angry, and 
that was not the best frame of mind to be in when 
there is a serious decision to be made. And it was 
all very serious to Bunny. 

He walked through the little town out into the 
country, and then, leaving the road, plunged into the 
woods. His camp training had taught him about 
trees and birds and the little animals that inhabit 
the fields and forests, and he began to find that he 
was not so seriously upset when he thought of what 
Wallace and Crawford might be saying, and pres- 
ently he was shaking his head and telling himself 
that ‘‘he guessed it would be all right, anyway.’' 
Gradually his anger cooled, and, without realizing it, 
he was whistling as he strode along beating down 
the undergrowth to make a path for himself, his 
mind at length made up as to what he should do. 

“I’ll show them I’m not a baby,” he said aloud, 
as he went on again with a light heart. 

Presently he came to a path running diagonally 
through the woods, and, turning into it, walked at a 
brisker pace. 

At a bend in the narrow road he saw, a hundred 
or so yards ahead of him, two figures strolling along 
with their backs to him. They looked familiar, and 
when he came closer he saw that they were Walters 
and Thornton. He slackened his pace at once. 
He wasn’t in the humor to talk to either of them; 

131 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


but as he looked toward them he saw thin wisps of 
smoke, and every now and then quite a cloud of 
it rising above their heads. 

“Humph! cigarettes!’’ muttered Bunny to him- 
self, rather disgustedly. “That lets them off the 
football team, all right. I won’t have it so long as 
I’m cap — ” He stopped short with a rueful little 
smile. “But I’m not captain,” he thought, “so it 
isn’t any of my business. All the same, they oughtn’t 
to do it, and if Billy should catch them at it he’d 
report them to the doctor, and then good-bye to 
Walters and ‘Me Too’; that’s the one thing Billy 
won’t stand. You’d think they’d have better sense, 
but they aren’t taking many chances out here. 
Hello! who’s this?” 

There was a rustling in the leaves behind him, 
and there stood the old trainer, in his Sunday best, 
smiling at him. 

“I’ve had an eye on you, young man, for a mile 
back,” Billy announced, “but you walk too fast for 
me, and I guess you’re deaf, because I called to you, 
though I wasn’t sure it was you. My eyes aren’t as 
good as they used to be.” 

“I didn’t hear you,” said Bunny, stepping in 
front of the old man so that he shut off his view up 
the lane. “What do you say to going back?” 

“Oh, it’s early yet,” returned Billy. “I started 
out to make an afternoon of it. There won’t be 
many fine days like this till next spring. Come 
along, you aren’t tired yet.” 

132 


OUT OF BOUNDS 


Bunny was in a quandary. He didn't fancy Wal- 
ters and Thornton particularly, and he knew that 
they shouldn't be sneaking olF this way smoking; but 
he didn't want them to get into trouble if he could 
help it. He and the old trainer had been out on 
walks before, so it was quite useless for him to plead 
that he was tired or to try and persuade Billy to 
go back. Moreover, he couldn't continue to stand 
in front of the man indefinitely without exciting sus- 
picion. For a moment he didn’t know what to do. 
If he could only warn the fellows ahead! But how.? 
Suddenly an idea came to him. 

‘‘Look, Billy, look!" he shouted at the top of his 
voice, and seizing the old trainer by the shoulder 
turned him half round and pointed to a giant oak 
near them. 

“What is it.?" exclaimed Billy, excitedly gazing 
into the branches. 

“Oh, pshaw! I was mistaken," returned Bunny, 
ruefully. “It looked like a pure white squirrel, but 
I guess it must have been the sun. White squirrels 
are mighty rare, you know." 

“Humph!" grunted Billy, “I thought it was a lion 
by the noise you made.” 

Bunny laughed almost hysterically, and glanced 
up the road. His ruse had been successful. Walters 
and Thornton, startled by the cry of “Look, Billy!" 
turned hastily, dropping their cigarettes as they saw 
who was behind them, and started off at a brisk 
walk. 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“Did you ever see a v^hite squirrel, Billy Bunny 
went on, easily. 

But Billy wasn’t paying any attention. He was 
peering up the road at the two fast-retreating figures 
with half-closed eyes. 

“Who are those two fellows. Bunny.?” he asked. 

“I was thinking about that when you came up,” 
Bunny replied, trying not to lie if he could help it. 

“They look like Clinton boys,” the old trainer 
went on. “They seem to be hustling along, all right.” 

“Oh, never mind them,” said Bunny. “I came 
out here to get rid of school for a little while.” 

Billy, who knew to what Bunny referred, took up 
the matter at once, and forgot for the moment the 
two boys ahead of them. 

“I hope you’re going to be sensible about this 
football foolery over Mr. Hargrave,” he said. 

“How do you mean.?” questioned Bunny, as they 
started to walk ahead. 

“I mean you aren’t going to let anybody keep 
him away.” 

“I haven’t anything to do with it any more,” 
Bunny replied. 

The old trainer sniffed contemptuously. “I know 
you resigned from being captain, but — you’ll have 
more to do with it shortly. And you’ll stick to Mr. 
Hargrave, hey .?” 

“Yes,” returned Bunny, seriously, “I’ll stand by 
Mr. Hargrave as long as I have anything to do 
with it.” 


134 


OUT OF BOUNDS 


“That’s right!” exclaimed Billy; and then, stop- 
ping suddenly, he looked down at the path where 
half a cigarette lay burning among the leaves. He 
stamped it out and glanced up the road, but a turn 
in it hid the two from sight. “Do you know who 
those two boys were Billy demanded, looking 
keenly at Bunny. 

Bunny hesitated for an instant. “Yes, I do,” he 
answered, resolutely. 

They stood for a moment eying each other steadi- 
ly, and then the old trainer shook his head. 

“I won’t ask you who they are because — because 
I know you wouldn’t tell me,” he said, slowly. 


XVII 


COACHING FROM THE SIDE-LINES 

I N the mean time Wallace and Crawford were busy 
telling their side of the story to the whole school, 
and, as there was no one to contradict it, they gained 
many supporters who would otherwise have sym- 
pathized with Bunny on general principles. 

Bunny’s stand had come very unexpectedly. “He’ll 
give in, all right,” Wallace had predicted, with con- 
fidence; but when the captain forced the issue as 
he had, they were considerably disconcerted. Craw- 
ford in particular was worried, for the announce- 
ment that Bunny had resigned caused an uproar 
through the school, and the question of Hargrave’s 
ability to coach was entirely forgotten. The almost 
universal sentiment that Saturday evening was that 
anything was better than having the captain resign. 

It is only fair to say that, at the outset, neither 
Wallace nor Crawford had planned to depose Bunny, 
and they were quite as much surprised as any one 
else. But immediately the situation was created 
Wallace saw his chance. 

“He’s not the whole team,” he said to Crawford. 
“We can get along without him all right. It won’t 
136 


COACHING FROM THE SIDE-LINES 


be hard to elect another captain/’ and Crawford, 
who was Wallace’s best friend, knew the drift of the 
other’s thoughts. 

Wallace had wanted to be captain the year be- 
fore; he had been bitterly disappointed when Bunny 
was chosen, so this crisis gave him an unlooked-for 
opportunity which he was quick to recognize. He 
was certain to be elected if it developed that a suc- 
cessor to Bunny must be chosen. 

On Sunday morning he found a decided sentiment 
among the football squad to keep Bunny at any 
price, and promptly set to work to counteract it. 
He had a few supporters from the very beginning — 
notably Crawford, Walters, and Thornton — and as 
the day passed he gained others. 

‘‘You might think we hadn’t any interest in the 
football team,” Wallace maintained, while the others 
listened. “I don’t deny Bunny’s a good player and 
all that, but when it comes to saying that we fellows 
just have to do what he wants, I don’t think it’s fair. 
Certainly we ought to have something to say about 
who is to coach.” His audience nodded in approval. 

“We work just as hard as he does,” said Walters, 
who, so far, of all the squad did the least. 

“That’s right!” Thornton put in mechanically. 

“Everybody knows that Hargrave isn’t any good 
any more,” Crawford insisted. “We won’t beat the 
Academy with him. Of course, he’s for Bunny — 
always has been — and I guess Bunny feels that he 
can do about as he pleases with Hargrave.” 

137 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“The whole question is just this/’ Wallace ex- 
plained: “If we do as Bunny says, then we’ll lose 
the Academy game, as we have in the last two years. 
If we don’t, we have to elect another captain. Of 
course. Bunny’s a good player, but he isn’t the whole 
team, though he seems to think he is.” 

By Sunday evening Wallace and his party had 
gained a considerable following, principally because 
Bunny’s side of the story was not told. The fact 
that the football squad, under the guidance of Wal- 
lace and Crawford, had voted not to play if Hargrave 
coached was entirely ignored, and much emphasis 
put on Bunny’s stubbornness in the face of the 
unanimous desire for a change. 

“He thinks he knows more than all of us put 
together,” Wallace reiterated. “There isn’t any- 
body in the school except Bunny who wants Har- 
grave.” 

But these arguments were not the most effective. 
The school generally, while they were more or less 
opposed to Hargrave, would rather see Bunny as 
captain, even if he did insist upon retaining the 
former coach, and this sentiment was reflected in 
the majority of the players. But, to counteract this, 
Wallace insisted that Bunny intended to leave the 
team unless he had his own way, and this created 
a very unfavorable impression. 

“Oh, you can bet he won’t play!” was the argu- 
ment. “He’ll sit in the stand and criticise every- 
thing, and if we should lose he’ll be tickled to death 

138 


COACHING FROM THE SIDE-LINES 


“Bunny wouldn’t do that,” some one protested. 

“Oh, wouldn’t he?” Wallace retorted. “Do you 
think that, after being captain, he’s coming out under 
somebody else ? I guess not. No, sir, he’ll play 
the baby act, and if he can’t be captain he won’t 
play. You’ll see at Monday’s practice.” 

This contention had considerable weight. It 
seemed entirely plausible, for, after all, no one likes 
to take a subordinate position after being the leader. 
But if so, it showed that Bunny’s motives were en- 
tirely selfish, and that he was willing to sacrifice the 
success of the team to have his own way. More- 
over, his silence pointed to the probable truth of 
what Wallace and his party said. It looked very 
much as if Bunny, knowing how valuable his ser- 
vices were, meant to take advantage of it, and was 
bent upon doing what he pleased, whether the school 
liked it or not. 

There were many who maintained that “Bunny 
wasn’t that sort of a fellow,” and that he would be 
found ready to play, no matter what was done; but 
Wallace’s arguments were the result of his own be- 
lief in what he would have done in Bunny’s place, 
and, therefore, the more convincing. Wallace knew, 
however, as did the rest of the school, that without 
Bunny the team would lose much of its strength, 
but he hoped that if he were once elected captain 
he could prevail upon Bunny to play, and counted 
upon the boy’s fondness for the game to accomplish 
the same end for him. He was sure that Bunny 

139 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


would give in sooner or later, and that the team 
would be just the same except for the change in 
captain and coach — which would not be a change for 
the worse, he thought, with becoming modesty. 

Monday morning found the school in a feverish 
state over the football situation. Wallace and his 
party went about from one group of boys to an- 
other repeating their previous arguments, and high- 
ly elated over their success. Since Saturday evening 
there had been a very considerable change of opinion, 
and if Bunny failed to come out for practice he would 
find the great majority of the boys against him, at 
whatever cost to the success of the team. 

Wallace and Crawford were, by this time, abso- 
lutely sure in their own minds that Bunny would 
not appear, and made their arrangements accord- 
ingly. 

‘‘WeTl get all the fellows together in the gym be- 
fore practice and elect another captain,” Crawford 
explained to Walters and Thornton. 

‘‘We have to have a captain to run things, you 
know,” Wallace put in. He did not wish to ap- 
pear too eager in this matter, and was glad to have 
Crawford manage the election. 

“You’re sure Bunny won’t be there Walters 
questioned. 

“ He won’t be on the field,” Wallace answered, pos- 
itively. “He’ll be up in the bleachers. You’ll see.” 

“Then we’ll show him he’s not the whole thing,” 
said Walters. 

140 


COACHING FROM THE SIDE-LINES 


“Sure we will,” Thornton echoed. 

But, alas! for the schemes of Wallace. The first 
boy to be dressed and ready for practice that after- 
noon was Bunny Reeves. He was out on the foot- 
ball field practicing drop-kicking when the others 
began to arrive, and the news quickly spread through- 
out the school. 

The opposition was considerably disconcerted, for 
so emphatic had been their assurances that Bunny 
would not be there that his mere presence seemed 
to controvert all that had been said against him, 
and the sentiment immediately changed accordingly. 
Wallace hurriedly called his lieutenants together for 
a consultation, and instead of taking an active part 
and proposing the election of a captain at once, they 
decided it would be better to wait. 

“For,” Wallace told himself, “as things were 
then. Bunny would have everything his own way.” 

And this was true enough. There had been too 
much talk of Bunny’s being a baby and not playing, 
so when the school came down to see the practice 
and found him there, all ready, they immediately 
forgot all about their opposition to Hargrave, and 
were ready to let Bunny do exactly as he liked. 

Bunny acted as he always had except, of course, 
that he didn’t take charge of the practice. He ran 
around and kicked a football, as every one else does, 
until the time comes when those in charge map out 
the practice for the day, and tell the men what they 
are to do. Wallace and Crawford were distinctly 
141 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


worried, for as the minutes went by and nothing 
was being done, they began to feel in a rather awk- 
ward position. 

“Where’s Billy.?” Wallace asked, and looking 
about the field and not seeing him, he went into 
the dressing-rooms and gymnasium in search. But 
the old trainer was not to be found. Knowing what 
was going on and what was likely to occur, he 
quietly disappeared. If the matter was worked out 
by the boys themselves it would stay worked out, 
and he didn’t mean to take any hand in it what- 
ever. 

Wallace returned, after a vain search for Billy, to 
find things just as he had left them. Bunny, quite 
rightly, took the position that he had no authority 
to tell the fellows what to do, and so waited with 
the rest to see what would come of it. For the last 
week he had been selecting two elevens, but he 
“wasn’t captain any more,” he told himself. 

In the grandstand there was much speculation 
as to what would happen, but it was soon apparent 
that the opposition to Bunny had collapsed com- 
pletely. They looked down on the field and laughed 
as they realized what was taking place there, and 
finally some one started the cry of “Line up! Line 
up!” 

Then Walters took a hand in the matter. 

“I say, Wallace, let’s line up!” he called, so that 
every one in the field could hear him. 

“All right,” replied Wallace, “I’m willing.” 

142 


COACHING FROM THE SIDE-LINES 


For a moment or two there was a strained silence* 
Wallace tried to calculate his strength^ and won- 
dered if he dared to assume the authority that was 
suggested in Walters’ proposal. He thought he 
would test it, at any rate. 

‘‘Come on,” he called, “line up!” 

But no one moved* The boys stood where they 
were, some looking to see what others would do, 
and one or two laughing outright. Those in the 
grandstand, seeing what the condition of affairs was, 
began shouting again. 

“Bunny Reeves! Bunny Reeves!” they called, 
and their desire was unmistakable. 

“Come on. Bunny, line us up!” some one shouted, 
and in a moment the cry was taken up by half the 
boys on the field. 

Wallace, seeing that things were going against 
him, tried to stem the tide and started to name 
two teams. 

“Walters, centre; Shepard and Cross, guards — ” 
But he could go no further, for every one began 
laughing, and Wallace turned red. “All right, line 
yourselves up!” he growled. 

“Bunny Reeves! Bunny Reeves!” shouted the 
grandstand. 

Bunny began to laugh himself, it was so funny 
from his point of view. 

“Fellows,” he said, at length, “weTl have a meet- 
ing of the squad after practice to see what we are 
going to do. In the mean time let’s line up this 

143 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


way,” and he gave out the positions for the two 
teams while the grandstand cheered joyously. 

But although everything seemed to favor Bunny 
just then, he knew that the trouble was by no means 
over. It would be no victory for him to be chosen 
captain again if Wallace and Crawford should stop 
playing, and perhaps carry two or three other sym- 
pathizers with them. So he was careful not to do 
anything that might hurt their feelings, and tried 
to act as if nothing had happened. 

And the surprising part of it was that the practice 
was the best seen on the field so far that season. It 
seemed as if the boys were trying their hardest: 
hurrying to their places when the ball was down, 
helping the runner, and backing up the tacklers till 
the boys in the grandstand, catching the enthusiasm, 
cheered the two teams as if it were a regular 
game. 

Wallace set a fine example, and it was at once ap- 
parent what he meant to do, but the stars of the 
afternoon were Walters and Thornton. For the first 
time they showed what they were really capable of, 
and Bunny opened his eyes in astonishment. 

“I didn’t think they had it in them,” he said to 
himself. 

Altogether it was a fine practice, and Bunny kept 
them hard at it. He wasn’t at all sure what the 
meeting afterward would bring forth, for he had not 
relinquished his determination to stand by Hargrave; 
but under the circumstances he thought it was the 
144 


COACHING FROM THE SIDE-LINES 


part of wisdom to get all the practice they could, 
no matter who might be in charge the next day. 

At length, at a nod from Billy Bryan, who had re- 
turned, Bunny stopped them. 

‘‘All right, fellows,’’ he called, “that’s enough for 
to-day! But don’t forget the meeting in the gym.” 

10 


XVIII 


TEAM WORK 

B unny was thinking hard as he changed from 
his football suit to his every-day clothes. He 
had Tom Cary’s letter in his pocket, and he felt sure 
that, if he read it aloud, his victory over Wallace 
would be assured, but he wanted more than that. It 
would be easy enough to humiliate those who had 
actually opposed him, but that would, in all prob- 
ability, disrupt the team completely, and almost any- 
thing would be better than that. 

“I won’t tell any more than I have to,” he re- 
solved, as he left the dressing-room. 

It was nearly dark when, after all the boys were 
assembled there. Bunny stepped on the platform 
and faced the football squad. 

“What’s the matter with Bunny Reeves?” some 
one called at the back of the room. 

“He’s all right!” they shouted, and from that 
moment there was no doubt about the outcome of 
the meeting. 

Bunny was pleased, although a trifle embarrassed. 
“I’m much obliged to you, fellows,” he began, 
as the cheer died away. “I don’t quite know how 
146 


TEAM WORK 


to begin this meeting, but I think we’d better just 
talk it out between ourselves. I don’t know why 
every one should have thought I wouldn’t play any 
more, because I never meant to quit. The fact is, 
fellows,” he went on, earnestly, “ I want to do every- 
thing I can to make the team a success this year, and 
I guess that’s what we all want, even though we do 
differ about who shall be the coach. I’ll admit I 
was mad when I found you had made up your 
minds about Hargrave without saying a word to 
me, but I’m all over that now, though I haven’t 
changed my opinion. Now, what are we going to 
do about Hargrave ?” 

“We’re going to have him coach the team,” 
Blair called, cheerfully. “What’s the matter with 
Hargrave ?” 

“He’s all right!” 

“Who’s all right?” 

“Hargrave!” 

The shout echoed about the big gymnasium, and 
seemed to leave no room for doubt as to the opinion 
of the majority. 

“That’s what I’ve always thought,” said Bunny, 
with a smile; but he continued, seriously: “I want 
everybody to be sure of it. You see, it isn’t fair to 
Hargrave, and it won’t be good for the team if 
most of us haven’t any confidence in the coach — ^we 
can’t half try to do what he tells us. We must get 
together and do all we can to make the team a strong 
one. Now I’d like Wallace to tell us how he feels 
H7 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


about it/’ And Bunny stepped down from the 
platform. 

There was a call for Wallace, and a good deal of 
curiosity to know what he would say. 

“ I haven’t changed my opinion either,” he began, 
with a smile. ‘‘ But everybody seems to be for Har- 
grave, and I want to say right now that I’m ready 
to work just as hard as I know how to make the 
team a success under him. Bunny’s right when he 
says we’ve got to get together, so I’m satisfied to do 
my level best whoever coaches us. I did think 
maybe we could get a better coach, but,” he ended, 
“we couldn’t have a better captain.” 

“What’s the matter with Wallace Bunny shouted, 
jumping to the platform and waving his arms, and 
the boys gave the answer with marked enthusiasm. 
This change of front on Wallace’s part gave promise 
of a reunited team, and Bunny did not think of 
what motives might have prompted it. 

“Well,” he said, with a grin, “if you fellows in- 
sist upon having Hargrave, I guess I’m still captain, 
and I don’t see what there is to meet about.” 

But, of course, this was by no means the end of 
the talking, and it was soon decided unanimously 
that Hargrave was the best coach that Clinton ever 
had and that Bunny was the best captain. Every- 
body was cheered, and when at length they started 
away all were vowing that they would win from 
Academy easily, and that Bunny and Hargrave and 
Wallace were the best fellows in the world. 

148 


TEAM WORK 


Naturally enough Bunny was delighted, but there 
was one matter still to be settled before he could 
be quite satisfied, and after a moment’s hesitation 
he made up his mind to have it out with Walters and 
Thornton before dinner that night. Yesterday he 
had been almost indifferent at having discovered the 
two smoking on the sly. To-day it was a much more 
serious matter to him. 

They seemed surprised when he opened the door 
of their room after they had answered his knock, 
but they were friendly enough, and asked him to sit 
down. 

‘‘I’ve only come for a minute,” he began, not 
knowing quite how to proceed. “I saw you fellows 
yesterday afternoon out in the woods.” 

Walters changed color, and began to bluster. 

“Well, what of it I guess we can go out for a 
walk if we want to.” 

“I guess we can,” Thornton put in. 

“I’m not talking about that,” Bunny replied. 
“It’s smoking cigarettes, I mean.” 

“Who said we were smoking Walters demanded, 
roughly. 

“ I saw you,” Bunny asserted, keeping his temper. 

“I thought maybe you did,” Walters confessed. 
“That was Billy Bryan with you, wasn’t it?” 

“It was,” Bunny replied. 

“Then I suppose it’s all over with us,” Walters 
went on. “Old Mac had us up once before al- 
ready. I’m surprised Billy hasn’t told him.” 

149 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“So am I/’ Thornton said. 

“ Billy didn’t know you,” Bunny explained. “ But 
he very nearly caught you. He found part of a 
lighted cigarette where you fellows had dropped 
them, and he saw you, too; but he couldn’t tell who 
you were. You were too far off by that time.” 

“Did he ask you who we were?” Walters ques- 
tioned, anxiously. 

“No,” said Bunny; “he said it wouldn’t be worth 
while.” 

“Well, I’m much obliged to you for not giving 
us away,” Walters replied, very gratefully for him. 

“So am I!” exclaimed Thornton, with unusual 
fervor. 

“As far as the school goes,” Bunny went on, “it 
isn’t any of my affair, but the football team is. You 
know smoking is mighty bad for training, and I just 
came up to ask you fellows not to do it any more. 
Both of you played a fine game to-day, and we 
need you badly in the line, but, you see, as captain 
of the team, I can’t stand for smoking, no matter 
who does it. That’s all I have to say about it, and 
now I’m off. Good-night.” And Bunny left them 
without another word. 

“Say, Thorn,” said Walters, after a long silence, 
“I believe he shouted out that way yesterday to 
warn us about Billy. He’s a mighty decent chap, 
isn’t he ?” 

“He sure is,” Thornton agreed. “We’d have 
been fired all right if it hadn’t been for him.” 

150 


TEAM WORK 


“Say, I’m going to cut it out.” 

“Cigarettes ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Me too.” And they both did. 

After dinner Bunny and Bob Struthers talked it 
over. 

“I’m glad it came out all right,” said the latter, 
cheerfully. 

“It’s the best thing that could have happened,” 
Bunny declared, with enthusiasm. “The fellows 
will stick together now for the rest of the season, 
you see if they don’t. Gee! Think how blue I 
was last night, and now — ” Bunny hummed a lit- 
tle tune, to show how joyful he was. 

“The foxy Wallace did the lightning change act 
in fine shape, didn’t he ?” Bob remarked, scornfully. 

“ If he stays changed that’s all I care about — and 
I think he will,” Bunny replied. “And, say, Bob, 
did you notice Walters and ‘Me Too’ this afternoon ? 
They’re turning out better than I expected.” 

“They’ve a good way to turn yet,” Bob answered. 

“You’re a pessimist, Robert, my son.” Bunny 
laughed. “Never mind, if they go at it the way 
they did to-day we’ll beat the Academy badly enough 
to make up for the last two years. It was a fine 
practice.” 

“ I wonder how Ted is coming on Bob mur- 
mured, reflectively. 

“ I don’t know; but if he’s having the same troubles 
I have, I’m sorry for him.” 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


‘‘Oh, he’s having troubles, I guess,” Bob surmised. 

“ I wish he were here instead of at the Academy,” 
Bunny said, regretfully. 

“That would be peachy!” Bob agreed. “Say, 
Bunny, it will be queer playing against him, won’t 
it 

“I’ll know I’ve been playing, all right,” returned 
Bunny. “Ted will be in the game from start to 
finish.” 

“Wish we had a few like him.” 

“Just one like him would suit me down to the 
ground,” Bunny replied, wistfully. “We could put 
him in at full, and then we would have a back- 
field!” 

“ By-the-way,” Bob exclaimed, presently, “you’ll 
have to tell Tom Cary that you don’t want him to 
coach.” 

“That’s so,” said Bunny. 

“You’d better write him all about it,” Bob sug- 
gested. 

“Yes; but I don’t like to tell Tom that all this fuss 
was made because I wouldn’t have him instead of 
Hargrave,” Bunny protested. “He’s a good fellow, 
and I don’t want to hurt his feelings.” 

“You needn’t do that,” Bob replied. “Just say 
Hargrave is coming back, and everything is all right. 
You might ask him to come up later in the season 
and coach the centre men. He could do that, and 
it would please him. I’m sure.” 

“Bob, you’re a brick!” Bunny exclaimed, hunting 
152 


TEAM WORK 


up his writing materials. “Do you think I ought 
to write ‘ Mr. Cary’ he asked, after a moment’s 
thought. 

“Why, no,” said Bob, scornfully. 

“But I can’t call him ‘Tom,’” Bunny insisted, 
“he’s so much older than I am.” 

“Just say ‘My dear Cary,’” Bob advised. And 
Bunny went to work on the letter. It wasn’t very 
easy, because he was in a rather peculiar position 
in the matter, and he didn’t wish to seem ungrateful 
or indifferent to Cary’s offer. Nor did he want to 
go into details over the controversy, so there was 
considerable scratching and rewriting before he at 
length succeeded in making it suit him. 

“Listen to this. Bob,” he said, at last, and read 
as follows: 

“My Dear Cary, — It was awfully good of you to say 
you would coach. For a while we didn’t know whether 
Hargrave was coming or not, but now he is, and I hope 
he’ll find a good team waiting for him. We’d like to have 
had you, of course, and maybe you’d be willing to pay 
us a visit later in the season and give the centre men some 
pointers. I’m sure Hargrave would like you to, and I 
know I would. It is mighty decent of you to offer to help 
us, and we appreciate it very much indeed. 

“ Sincerely, 

“Bunny Reeves.” 

“That’s all right, I guess,” Bob said, without 
much enthusiasm. 


153 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“What’s the matter with it?” asked Bunny. 

“Oh, nothing, except that we did know Hargrave 
was coming all the time.” 

“No, we didn’t,” Bunny protested. “We only 
found out to-night that the fellows would have him.” 

“If you put it that way, I suppose you’re right,” 
agreed Bob. 

had to put it that way,” Bunny explained. “ I 
don’t want to hurt his feelings, and I don’t want to 
tell him how it happened. If you think it’s an easy 
letter to write, you sit down and try it.” 

‘It’s all right,” Bob replied. “Send it, and have 
done with the whole beastly business.” 

“It was sort of beastly, wasn’t it?” Bunny re- 
marked, as he sealed and stamped the envelope. 

“It certainly was,” agreed Bob. 

“ But it’s all over now — and, say,” Bunny added, 
cheerfully, “it isn’t so bad being captain, after all.” 


XIX 


DELAYING THE GAME 

E ven Bunny could find no fault with the spirit 
shown by the candidates for the football team, 
and during the next week or ten days he hadn’t a 
care in the world. There was never a word of dis- 
content about who should be coach, and all the 
fellows seemed determined to do the best that was 
in them. Bunny was delighted, and worked him- 
self and his men harder than ever, in order that there 
should be no delay, and that, instead of being obliged 
to drill them in first principles, as was usually the 
case, Hargrave could begin at once to teach them 
plays and new formations. 

Walters and Thornton had changed considerably 
for the better, and Crawford had evidently decided 
that this year Hargrave should have no excuse to 
keep him on the side-lines. Of course, Wallace had 
always been sure of a place at right-half, for, except 
Bunny, he was the best player in the Clinton squad; 
but this fact didn’t keep him from doing his best, 
and it did look as if he was sorry for all the discon- 
tent he had stirred up, and was determined to do all 
he could to set it right. 


55 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


In fact, every one was enthusiastic, and nearly the 
entire school came out to practice and cheered, hop- 
ing to encourage the players, and thus do what they 
could for the success of the eleven. Even Billy 
Bryan, who was naturally pessimistic, seemed to 
think they were going to have a good team. 

Said he to Bunny one day: ‘‘That steam-box is 
working fine, hey .? I don’t say you’ll beat the Acad- 
emy, but — ^you’ll come near it.” And this was ex- 
cessive praise from the old trainer. 

But as the days went by everybody became im- 
patient to see Hargrave on the field and the real 
work started, and, of course. Bunny was as anxious 
as the rest. 

“Do you suppose he’d come sooner than he agreed 
to if I asked him Bunny said to Bob one evening. 

“Can’t hurt to write to him,” Bob replied. “He 
can only say ‘No,’ and, anyway, I should think he’d 
be glad to know how things are going.” 

“I’ll do it,” Bunny announced, and forthwith sat 
down, and, after telling Hargrave how well the prac- 
tice was progressing, begged him to try and arrange 
to take charge of them as soon as possible. 

Hargrave’s answer was prompt, but most unex- 
pected. Bunny read it aloud to Bob the evening it 
came, and the tone of his voice betrayed the dismay 
and disappointment he felt: 

“My Dear Reeves, — When I tell you that I know all 
that has happened at Clinton over the question of my 
156 


DELAYING THE GAME 


coaching and the part you played in it, you will understand 
my great surprise when I read your letter. I hardly thought 
it was necessary, under the circumstances, to write you that 
I had abandoned my intention of looking after the school 
eleven this fall. I do not mean, however, to permit what 
has occurred to lessen my interest in Clinton football, and 
shall do what I can in the future as I have in the past. 
This year I shall be content to let some one else take charge, 
and hope quite sincerely that your season will be successful. 

“Yours very truly, 

“Horace Hargrave.” 

Bob Struthers shook his head dubiously. 

“I was afraid of it,” he acknowledged. “I didn’t 
say anything to you about it, but it did strike me 
that if Hargrave found out how all the fellows were 
kicking, he wouldn’t feel much like coming back. 
And you can’t blame him. I was hoping he wouldn’t 
hear of it.” 

“ But what does he mean ?” asked the perplexed 
Bunny. 

‘‘He means he isn’t going to coach,” Bob replied. 

“Of course,” Bunny said, impatiently; “but why 
should he be surprised at my writing to him .? And 
why does his letter sound as if we were strangers .? 
He always called me ‘Bunny’ before, and now he 
seems to think it is all my fault.” 

“Read it again,” Bob suggested; and after Bunny 
had complied, he was still as much at sea as ever. 

“It certainly does sound as if he thought it was 
your fault,” Bob admitted. 

157 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


‘‘But how can it be?’' demanded Bunny. “And 
he says he knows the part I played in it.” 

“I give it up,” Bob admitted. “1 guess it will 
be Tom Cary, after all.” 

“ It won’t be Tom Cary,” Bunny protested, vio- 
lently. “He says himself that he doesn’t know the 
modern game, and I’d rather not have any one. 
I’m going to write Hargrave again.” 

The answer to the second letter arrived a day or 
two later, and was very short and emphatic. Har- 
grave said he would not come, and that he supposed 
Bunny’s urgent appeal was because he couldn’t get 
any one else. 

Bunny was at his wits’ end. He didn’t know 
which way to turn, and instead of looking forward 
eagerly to the success of his team, he saw only failure 
ahead. Except for Tom Cary, who just wouldn’t 
do, there was no one available. There were, to be 
sure, other Clinton graduates who knew how to 
coach, and who might have helped if they had not 
lived so far away. And without a good coach it was 
folly to think of winning from the Academy. As 
soon as the fellows learned that Hargrave was not 
coming their enthusiasm would vanish. They might 
just as well abandon all hope of success that season 
unless in some way Hargrave could be induced to 
change his decision. 

“And I thought my troubles were all over!” sighed 
Bunny, dolefully. 

But it was not only on account of football that 
158 


DELAYING THE GAME 


Bunny worried over this recent development. He 
admired Hargrave very much indeed, and hereto- 
fore they had been the best of friends. The older 
man’s letters had been cordial and intimate; they 
had always begun ‘‘My dear Bunny,” and now it 
was the cold and formal “ Reeves.” Moreover, these 
last two letters had seemed to accuse the boy of 
being the cause of the trouble, and he couldn’t 
understand it. Still, something had to be done; he 
didn’t propose to give up without making every 
effort. 

“There isn’t any use in my writing again,” he told 
Bob; “he wouldn’t answer it.” 

“How about getting old Mac to write to him.?” 
Bob suggested. 

Bunny shook his head. “That isn’t worth con- 
sidering. The doctor won’t have anything to do 
with the athletics. He settled that long ago. He 
never has interfered in any way, and he won’t now, 
I’m positive.” 

“Why couldn’t Wallace and that bunch have kept 
quiet ?” Bob burst out, wrathfully. “See the trouble 
they’ve made by their foolishness.” 

“There isn’t any use growling about that,” Bunny 
answered, sensibly; “that’s all over and done with. 
What we have to do is to get Hargrave here. I wish 
I could see him.” 

“Why don’t you go and see him .?” Bob suggested. 

“I don’t believe old Mac would let me,” Bunny 
said, hesitatingly. 


59 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“It wouldn’t do any harm to find out,” returned 
the practical Bob. 

“You’re right; I’ll go and see him this minute, 
but I’m not hopeful.” And Bunny, in pursuit of 
this idea, went straight to see the head-master. 

“I don’t know about this, my boy,” said Doctor 
MacHenry, when Bunny had explained the situation. 
“I don’t fancy your going off to New York alone.” 

“But, sir,” pleaded Bunny, “we must get him to 
come and coach the team. I’ve written, but that 
doesn’t seem to do any good. I don’t see anything 
else to do, unless you’ll write to him, sir.” 

The doctor shook his head. “I don’t interfere 
with the athletics, you know. That part of it you 
boys must look out for yourselves. The only hand 
I will take is to see that it doesn’t interfere with your 
class standing, and that you behave yourselves. 
That is as far as I will go.” 

“That is what I thought, sir,” Bunny replied, 
“so I couldn’t see any other way but to see Mr. 
Hargrave myself and explain just how things hap- 
pened. I think I could make him understand.” 

“When do you want to go.?” asked the doctor. 

“As soon as I can,” answered Bunny. “I don’t 
want to leave the team a minute if I can help it, 
but the quicker it is settled the better.” 

“Well,” said the old doctor, finally, “I must run 
up to New York myself for a day, so perhaps we can 
go together. I didn’t mean to go so soon, but — 
well, can you be ready to-morrow .?” 

i6o 


DELAYING THE GAME 


‘‘Oh yes, sir!” exclaimed Bunny, delighted. 

“Very well, then, that’s settled; but we must not 
establish a precedent, understand that.” 

Bunny, not very sure of what a precedent might 
be, promised, nevertheless, and the morrow found 
them speeding to New York together, a novelty 
which Bunny rather enjoyed, for he had always been 
good friends with the doctor, and, although rather 
afraid of him, found that, once away from the school, 
he forgot to be the head-master, and they talked of 
lots of things together till Bunny almost ceased to 
remember that he was different from other people. 

“Are you going to see your father.?*” the doctor 
asked. 

“ I hadn’t thought of it,” said Bunny. 

“ Don’t you think it would as well if you did 

“Yes, I suppose so,” replied Bunny; “but, you 
see, sir, we haven’t anything to talk about, and he’s 
awfully busy. I am not sure he’d want me to in- 
terrupt him.” 

“I think I’d go and see,” the doctor said. And 
Bunny promised he would. 

They arranged to meet for an afternoon train, so 
that they might return together, and as the doctor 
had a good many things to do, he started Bunny on 
the right car for Hargrave’s office, which was in one 
of the huge office buildings down-town. The doctor 
didn’t like the idea of Bunny going about alone; 
but, after all, the boy wasn’t a child any more, and 
was old enough to look out for himself. 

II i6i 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Bunny found the building without dijfficulty, but 
he hesitated for an instant in front of the elevators. 
He hated them as he hated high places, but he step- 
ped into the little cage and was soon flying toward 
the roof. He was glad when they reached the 
twelfth floor and he could get out and breathe com- 
fortably once more. 

He found the office, but was informed that Har- 
grave himself was ‘‘at the bridge.’’ 

“At the bridge Bunny repeated, looking vaguely 
at the young woman behind the desk. 

“Yes; he’s there every day now.” 

“When will he be back?” 

“Not till to-morrow,” answered the girl. “He 
only comes in for a few minutes in the morning to 
look over his mail.” 

“Then I will have to go to the bridge. How do 
you get there ?” asked Bunny. 

The girl was very nice, and directed him as well 
as she could; but it was a new bridge over one of 
the rivers near the city, and it took nearly two hours 
before Bunny reached the place. 

There he found himself in front of the fenced-in 
approach to a bridge in the process of erection. All 
he could see of it were the high, latticework towers, 
raw-red against the blue sky. From where he 
stood there seemed to be but one entrance to the 
enclosure, and over this was a sign reading: 

NO ADMITTANCE EXCEPT ON BUSINESS 
162 


DELAYING THE GAME 


Bunny decided, after a moment’s hesitation, that 
he had business; so, pushing open the rough board 
gate, walked in. Before him were a number of 
bare, unpainted wooden houses, and on one he saw 
the word “Office” lettered on the door. 

“That’s the place,’ he said to himself, and made 
for it. 

On the way he met a boy of about his own age 
dressed in blue overalls, stained here and there with 
spots of bright red paint. They looked at each 
other for a minute, and Bunny thought it might be 
wise to ask his way. 

“I’m looking for Mr. Hargrave,” he said. “Do 
you know where he is 

“He’s out on the work,” was the reply. “You 
can’t see him till dinner-time, and maybe not then. 
I’ve known him to stay till it was dark.” 

“But,” protested Bunny, “I must see him right 
away.” 

“They won’t leave you out there,” said the boy, 
“not for nothin’. They’re awful strict, and the boss 
wouldn’t no more think of lettin’ you go than flyin’. 
You’ll have to wait, I guess.” 

“I can’t wait!” exclaimed Bunny. “I’ve come 
a long way to see him, and I have to meet a 
train to go back this afternoon, and — oh, don’t 
you understand I I must see him — it’s very im- 
portant!” 

“Ever been on a bridge while she was bein’ put 
up ?” asked the other. 

163 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“No, I never have,’’ replied Bunny; “but I’ll go 
anywhere to see Mr. Hargrave.” 

“Oh, you will!” The boy chuckled, and then 
looked about to see if they were observed. “Say,” 
he began, in a whisper, “if you won’t let on who 
showed you. I’ll take you out on the work without 
no one seein’ — that is, if you ain’t afraid.” 

“Certainly I’m not afraid,” said Bunny. 

“Then come along with me,” said the boy, and 
he led the way to a narrow opening between the 
fence and one of the wooden houses. 

Bunny followed promptly. His only thought was 
to find Hargrave, and he was willing to go anywhere 
to do it. 


XX 


A DROP 

W HEN Bunny stepped through the narrow open- 
ing he came into a large yard filled to over- 
flowing with parts of the unfinished bridge. All 
about him were heaps of structural steel; beams 
piled on beams, each numbered in red and white 
figures; immense girders, capped and ready to be 
placed; braces made up of several pieces, held to- 
gether by a crisscrossing of latticework; barrels 
and boxes containing all sorts of small objects; and 
a thousand and one twisted bits of iron, for which 
Bunny could not have imagined the use nor guessed 
the name. To his right a railroad track entered 
through a wide opening in the fence, and at that 
moment a string of empty cars moved slowly away. 
In front of him rose the superstructure of the half- 
finished span, while far out above the river he could 
see the swinging arm of the big travelling-crane. 

But Bunny scarcely noticed these things. He was 
almost overwhelmed by the seeming bustle and con- 
fusion about him, and disturbed by the overpowering 
noises. It was deafening. Everywhere there was 
the harsh clang of metal striking metal, mingled with 
165 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


the shriek of car wheels as they rounded curves, the 
grunting of many stationary engines, the rhythmical 
bark of the air-compressors, and above and below 
and between the incessant, nerve-wracking rattle 
of the riveting-machines. 

Bunny followed his guide mechanically. As they 
rounded a pile of braces the boy suddenly stopped, 
and, pushing him back, crouched down out of sight. 

Don’t move,” he whispered; “there comes 
‘Reddy’ Garrison, the boss riveter. If he seen me 
here with you, he’d fire me off the job so quick I’d 
forget my name was Joe Herrick.” 

Bunny saw a short, sandy-haired man hurrying 
past them, muttering to himself as he went. He 
looked neither to the right nor to the left, and made 
straight for the office as if his life depended upon it. 

“He won’t be back for a couple of hours now,” 
Joe volunteered. “He’ll be workin’ the telephone 
for all it’s worth, makin’ trouble for some one all 
right. He’s been wantin’ supplies for a week now, 
but they’ve only been cornin’ in little dribs, and I 
guess he’s gettin’ kind of tired of it. Anyway, he 
won’t see us. Come on.” 

“Do you work on the bridge?” asked Bunny. 
He had never talked to this sort of a boy before, and 
he was distinctly interested. 

“Do I work on the bridge?” exclaimed Joe, with 
a grin. “Well, I just guess I do! Been workin’ 
at this kind of business for near five years.” 

“What do you do?” asked Bunny. 

1 66 


A DROP 


“I’m what you might call a riveter’s assistant, 
though we don’t have names for ’em up here. You’ll 
see more of us out on the work. Come on.” 

Again Joe led the way, and soon they came upon 
the bridge itself. They were comparatively alone. 
The workmen were either below or above them, and 
so busy with their appointed tasks that they took 
no heed as the boys stepped out on the rough plank- 
ing that formed the temporary floor of the incom- 
pleted structure. 

“Say,” Joe began, hesitatingly,^ did you ever work 

Bunny felt himself blushing. It did seem as if 
this boy, who was no older than he, had a distinct 
advantage over him, and the question was embar- 
rassing. He had never worked, of course, and it 
had never entered his head to think of it. 

“No,” he said, reluctantly — “no, I never did.” 

“I suppose your dad foots the bills.?” was the 
next question. 

Bunny nodded. “I suppose he does.” This was 
another thing he had never thought of. 

“Well, my dad — he works on the bridge, too, and 
he makes me work with him. It must be fine not 
to have anything to do.” 

“Oh, I have lots of things to do,” Bunny asserted, 
hastily. “I’ve got my lessons and — and — ” 

“That ain’t icor^,” Joe interrupted. “Coin’ to 
school ain’t work!” He said it very scornfully, and 
Bunny seemed to realize that what he said was per- 
haps true. 


167 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“Tt ain’t what you’d really call work,” Joe went 
on. “Why, when you come to stickin’ to your job 
ten hours a day, leanin’ over, handin’ red-hot rivets 
to a feller ten feet below you, bendin’ your back, 
maybe, a hundred times a hour — ^well, when night 
comes you know you’ve been doin’ somethin’, I can 
tell you. Then you go home and go to bed. It’s 
all you’re fit for. Then the next day you’re at it 
again. That’s work! In a rush I’ve been at it 
eighteen hours steady without thinkin’; but it all 
comes of gettin’ used to it, I guess.” 

As the boys talked they walked slowly, picking 
their way cautiously through a litter of empty rivet- 
kegs, until at length, as they came from behind the 
shelter of the shore, the wind struck them full in 
the face, and Bunny gasped. It was here, too, that 
he first began to realize the height of the bridge 
above the river, rushing far below him. He stopped 
involuntarily. 

“This ain’t nothin’ to what you’ll get out at the 
end,” Joe commented. “It’s funny how the wind’s 
always blowin’ up here. You’d think it would stop 
sometimes, wouldn’t you I And maybe it does, be- 
cau e we kind of get used to it, and don’t pay no 
attention; but just the minute we stop to think about 
it there she is, a-blowin’ fit to take your hair off! 
You’ll find it a sight worse out at the end.” 

Their path became narrower at every step. Now, 
instead of a broad platform, the planks were put 
down more irregularly, and Bunny was forced to 

i68 


A DROP 


step cautiously from one to the other. Directly be- 
low him he could see the huge rectangles that make 
up the units of a cantilever bridge, huge squares 
riveted together with diagonals running from corner 
to corner; but below these was the river, and it made 
Bunny dizzy to look down. 

“How much farther is it to where I can find Mr. 
Hargrave he asked. 

The boy pointed to the crane at the very end of 
the bridge. 

“Dou you see that?” he asked. “Well, that’s 
where you’ll find Mr. Hargrave.” 

Bunny hesitated. He felt queer. The height, 
the singing wind, the rasping chatter of the riveters, 
the shrill whistle of the donkey -engine — all these 
things made him uncertain of himself. He dared 
not look down again; the swirling water, seemingly 
a mile below him, made his head go around, and 
gave him a full feeling in his throat. Then the 
thought came to him that this was a kind of nerve 
he had never met before. He looked at the boy 
ahead of him with wonder, noticing how entirely 
unconcerned he was, and began to ask himself if 
this was what his father meant when he talked of 
nerve. 

Bunny decided it was; and, with a dogged shake 
of his head, clinched his teeth and went forward. 
He didn’t intend to give up yet, at any rate; if that 
other boy could do it, so could he. 

Shortly they came to another narrowing in the 
169 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


path. There were only two planks now laid be- 
tween the beams, and Bunny halted. 

“What’s the matter.?” Joe called, looking over 
his shoulder. “Come on, there ain’t no one to stop 
you now.” 

Bunny put out a foot. He was ashamed to let 
this boy get the better of him, but below there was 
nothing but the skeleton girders of the framework, 
no planking there at all, and if he fell he would 
drop straight to the river. 

“Say,” Joe began, coming back, “ain’t you never 
been on a bridge before ?” 

“Not one that wasn’t built,” replied Bunny. 

The boy chuckled. “That’s what I thought,” 
he announced, with a grin. “It’s kind of funny at 
first, ain’t it .? Feel sort of all up in the air, eh ?” 

“Yes,” answered Bunny, “that’s just the way I 
feel.” 

“There ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of,” the other 
went on, “and you’ll get used to it pretty quick. 
I’ve known fellows who wouldn’t have come this far 
— you couldn’t have hired ’em to. Take your time 
and just look ahead of you. It’s worse’n this 
farther on.” 

It may be that Joe said this last to encourage 
Bunny, but it did not have that effect. 

“Can’t you tell Mr. Hargrave I’m here, and would 
like to see him he asked. 

“Well, I could,” said Joe, slowly, “but I’d be 
fired for bringin’ you out here. You’ve got to keep 
170 


SAY. THAT’S NERVE FOR YOU!” SAID JOE 






A DROP 


that dark. You come on, and sing out if you think 
you’re goin’ to fall — though you won’t, if you make 
up your mind to it, and don’t look down. That’s 
the worst.” 

Bunny took a deep breath and walked out on the 
two planks, looking intently at the swinging crane 
before him. Joe moved just a little ahead, so that 
Bunny could catch hold of him if he felt he was 
going to lose his balance; but Bunny didn’t. He 
gritted his teeth, and tried to forget that he was up 
in the air with nothing below him but a few girders 
that looked like spider-webs. 

Presently they came to a little platform, or, rather, 
a square of planks covering one of the sections, and 
Bunny stopped to get his bearings again. 

‘‘Say,” exclaimed Joe, with obvious admiration, 
“you’re all right! I’ve been expectin’ you to beat 
it long ago. I didn’t think you’d come out this 
far, honest I didn’t. There’s lots of grown men that 
wouldn’t have done it for a farm. But it’s all in 
gettin’ used to it. Kind of fresh up here, ain’t it 

The wind whistled about the steel framework, 
and Bunny shuddered. Joe walked to the edge of 
the planking and faced it, taking in deep breaths as 
he did so. “I tell you,” he went on, “there’s some- 
thin’ about this business that makes a man of you. 
But wait till you see ’em at the end I Some of the 
boys there are fittin’ beams with nothin’ between 
’em and the water but the steel their standin’ on. 
Talk of nerve! Say, that’s nerve for you! But it 
171 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


gets you some time, even though you are used to it. 
My dad used to do it, but he gave it up a year or so 
ago. ITl be at it some day — ^when Fm old enough, 
that is. Now they won’t let me. I don’t know as 
I’m so awful anxious for it yet.” 

Joe still stood at the very edge, and as he spoke 
he gave a little dance-step just to show how indif- 
ferent he was to mere height, and in so doing the 
plank he stood on turned and he lost his balance. 
For an instant he swayed wildly, throwing out his 
arms to maintain his equilibrium, swung toward 
the platform and brought his foot forward to regain 
his position, but as he put it down the plank turned 
again and dropped through into space below. The 
boy, with a cry, threw out his arms, striving to clutch 
anything to save himself, and Bunny saw the de- 
spair in his face for a moment before he disappeared. 

With a gasp of fright Bunny dropped to his knees 
and looked into the open space below him. He 
expected, of course, that Joe was gone for good, but 
to his great surprise he saw him hanging limp on a 
girder. Evidently he had swung inward, and in 
so doing had fallen across the beam. 

Bunny was too upset to think of anything. He 
only saw the boy hanging like a rag. 

"‘Hello!” he called down. “Hello, Joe, are you 
hurt ?” But there was no answer, and Bunny came 
to the correct conclusion that Joe was unconscious. 

Bunny lifted himself to his knees and shouted, 
but against the roar of the wind and the noise of the 
172 


A DROP 


engine his voice made little headway. Again he 
called and waved his arms, but, so far as he could 
see, no one paid the slightest attention to him. 
There was not a man near. All the workers had 
been left behind except those at the extreme end of 
the bridge, and they could not hear him. Bunny 
decided that he must go to them at once, and was 
about to get to his feet when he looked down again 
at the limp figure below him. 

With a pang he saw that its position had changed 
slightly. It was lower on one side than the other. 
As he watched he saw a movement of the legs, and 
again dropped to his knees. 

'‘Hey, Joe!” he shouted, but there was no response. 
Then he saw the boy’s body move, and realized, 
with a feeling of horror, that, while still unconscious, 
Joe was slowly slipping to his death. 

Bunny’s heart gave a great leap. How could he 
stay there and watch the boy drop without raising 
a hand to help him ? But what could he do It 
made him frightfully dizzy even to look down, and 
yet somehow he couldn’t take his eyes away from 
that hanging form. What could he do .? 

He raised himself once more, and shouted with 
all his might. Then, twisting his legs about the 
pillar under the planking, he swung himself out and 
disappeared from the surface of the bridge. 


XXI 


HOLDING 

B unny found himself grasping the braces run- 
ning diagonally from the corners of the huge 
rectangles that make up the trusses, as they call the 
spans reaching from pier to pier. It was formed of 
long steel beams held together with crisscross 
pieces riveted to them, and made a sort of ladder 
which, under ordinary circumstances, he would have 
had no trouble climbing up or down. As it was, with 
his back to the river and thinking only of the boy 
helpless below him, he felt little anxiety for himself, 
or, rather, he didn’t think of himself just then at all, 
but scrambled down with all the speed he could. 
At the middle, where the two braces intersect, he 
was forced to limb around one of them, and as he 
looked down over his shoulder he shuddered and 
grew dizzy as he realized the peril of his situation. 

For an instant he faltered, clinging desperately 
to the rough metal, while the wind, coming in fierce 
gusts, whistled through the ironwork about him, 
and seemed bent upon tearing him from his insecure 
position. 

Then he remembered Joe, and continued, half 

174 


HOLDING 


climbing, half sliding, until he reached the lower 
girder, where his greatest task began. Here he was 
forced to straddle the girder, and although it was 
much wider than he would have expected, there 
was no way for him to avoid looking into the vast, 
empty space below him with the rushing river at the 
bottom. But he crawled slowly, keeping his eyes 
and his thoughts on the helpess boy in front of 
him, and at last reached his goal and gripped the 
limp body while he held himself on with his legs. 

Having accomplished what he started out to do. 
Bunny immediately felt a reaction. There he was, 
suspended in the air, holding on for dear life, and a 
moment’s relaxation would be fatal to himself and 
to the boy he held. Yet there was nothing he could 
do. He knew it was utterly impossible for him to 
carry or drag Joe up again. He simply couldn’t 
do that, and the only thing left was to stay where 
he was until some one happened to see him from 
below, or, walking above, chanced to look down. It 
wasn’t a safe place for any one, and for Bunny, who 
naturally disliked high places, and to whom such 
experiences were wholly uncommon, the position 
was one of extreme danger, and it needed all his 
courage to keep from becoming panic-stricken. 

Once or twice he yelled furiously, but the hope- 
lessness of that was apparent. The noises on the 
bridge and the wind beating against him made such 
effort futile. All he could do was to wait, hoping 
that some one would come and help them to safety. 

175 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


How long he was there Bunny could never tell. It 
seemed hours, but presently he felt the body under 
his hands move convulsively, and Joe’s legs began 
to draw up. This was distinctly alarming, for as 
it was Bunny had all he could do to hold the boy 
where he was without his struggling; now that he 
was evidently coming to his senses and trying to 
change his position, Bunny became desperate. 

‘‘Don’t move!” he shouted, in his anxiety; “you’ll 
fall off!” But Joe, only partially recovered, still tried 
to turn himself. Bunny edged nearer, and, throwing 
himself across the other’s body, grasped the beam 
underneath and held on with all his force. 

The boy groaned pitiably. The discomfort of 
his position was extreme, and the pain resulting from 
his fall began to make itself felt as he regained 
consciousness. 

“Here, get off me!” he murmured. “I say, it ain’t 
fair! You’re smotherin’ me!” 

“Don’t move!” Bunny commanded, in his ear. 
“I can’t hold you if you do.” 

“Get off me. I’m smotherin’!” Joe repeated, and 
tried to turn; and then came a long-drawn “Oh!” 
as he opened his eyes and gazed into the space 
below him. 

With an effort he twisted his neck and looked up. 
Then he remembered what had happened. 

“Say,” he began, weakly, “you needn’t squeeze 
me so tight. I ain’t goin’ to fall. How did I hap- 
pen to land here .? I thought I was a gorner.” 

176 


HOLDING 


Bunny, realizing that Joe had fully returned to 
consciousness, straightened up, still holding on to 
him, however. 

“Don’t try to move,” Bunny cautioned; “you’ll 
drop if you do.” 

“I can’t move,” answered the other. “I’m all 
asleep except my head, and that hurts like fun. 
Gee!” he went on, more to himself, “I thought I 
was a gorner.” 

Now that Joe had come to his senses Bunny felt 
better. It was a comfort to have some one to talk 
to, at least; moreover, he felt that as soon as he had 
fully recovered, Joe would know how to get them 
out of their present predicament. For a while, how- 
ever, Joe continued to mutter to himself over the 
strangeness of his escape. 

“Why, there ain’t one fellow in a hundred — no, 
nor a thousand — ^would have hit that beam and hung 
there. Say, how did I do it 

“I don’t know,” answered Bunny. “I was sur- 
prised when I saw you hanging there.” 

“Gee!” Joe repeated again. “Gee! I thought I 
was a gorner, sure!” 

Bunny began to tire of the strain of holding on, 
and wished Joe would try to think about getting 
back to the top of bridge. 

“How are you feeling now?” he asked. 

“Dizzy,” answered Joe — “dizzy in my head and 
dreamy in my legs. Seems like there wasn’t much 
in between — that is, nothin’ to speak of. Say, but 

177 


12 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Fm gettin’ a rush of blood to the head hangin’ down 
here. Gimme a hand and help me up.’^ 

This suggestion alarmed Bunny. He didn’t be- 
lieve Joe was in any condition to take care of him- 
self yet, and he himself hadn’t strength enough to 
do much in the way of helping. 

“Hadn’t you better stay where you are?” he 
suggested. 

But Joe wasn’t satisfied, and began to turn him- 
self with a view to getting himself on the top of the 
beam. 

“I’m gettin’ a rush of blood to the head,” he re- 
peated, and began to lift himself up. “Here,” he 
went on, “lean down and let me put an arm around 
your neck. Yes, that’s it. Now hold on, and I’ll 
be right in a jiffy.” 

With a quick twist of his body Joe came up into 
a sitting position, and threw one leg over the beam. 
Not minding the height, it was rather a simple per- 
formance for him; but the moment he was upright 
his head went to buzzing furiously, and he was 
forced to lay out on the beam till it stopped a little. 

At last he raised his head and looked at Bunny. 

“Say,” he began, “what brought you down here 

“You did,” replied Bunny, “but I want to know 
how we are to get up again.” 

“Well,” Joe went on, ignoring the question — well, 
I didn’t think you had the nerve, honest I didn’t. 
What brought you down, anyway ?” 

“I saw you slipping off*, and I couldn’t make any 
178 


HOLDING 


one hear, so I came down to hold you on. There 
wasn’t anything else to do,” Bunny replied. 

‘‘Gee!” exclaimed Joe. “I guess you saved me 
that time all right, and I’m much obliged to you; 
but I didn’t think you had the nerve. Say, I know 
lots of men that wouldn’t ’a’ thought of doin’ it — 
not much!” 

“ But how are we going to get back ?” Bunny in- 
sisted, feeling that if something wasn’t done soon 
he would be falling off himself. Every muscle in 
his body ached from holding on so tightly, and he 
knew he couldn’t keep it up much longer. 

“I don’t know how I’m going to get up,” said 
Joe. “I couldn’t climb those cross-braces with my 
head goin’ ’round this way, not for nothin’; but you 
can get up the way you came down.” 

“I can’t go up backward,” Bunny said, “and I 
wouldn’t dare to turn around here. I’d fall off 
sure.” 

“Maybe you would,” agreed Joe; “but don’t 
hold on so tight. Forget you’re a mile up in the 
air, and just sit natural. You’ll find it’s all right.” 

Bunny relaxed his grip somewhat just to try it, 
but that immediately made him think of the water 
far below and brought back the giddy feeling to his 
head. 

“I have to hold on,” he said, almost tearfully; 
and Joe, who knew he owed his life to the other, 
made no comment. 

“It was different when you were hanging there in 

179 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


danger of slipping off,” Bunny explained; “but 
now you’re all right I don’t like it very much, and 
I wish we were up again on top.” 

“There ain’t nothin’ we can do but wait,” Joe 
said, with conviction. “It ain’t no use in the world 
to holler unless you hear some one walkin’. Some 
of ’em ’ll be cornin’ in when the whistle blows. Say, 
you lie out on your stomick, you’ll find it easier. 
I haven’t got nothin’ against you for bein’ afraid. 
I’d be afraid, too, if I wasn’t used to it. You’ve got 
nerve, all right.” 

Bunny followed this suggestion, and stretched him- 
self out on the beam to wait. It was easier, as Joe 
said it would be, and he closed his eyes and tried 
not to think about anything. 

How long the boys waited there they would be 
unable to say. Probably not more than half an 
hour at the most; but to Bunny, at any rate, it 
seemed an eternity. For the most part they were 
silent, but Joe, who was thinking of the part Bunny 
had played, couldn’t help muttering, now and then: 
“I didn’t think he’d have the nerve.” And once he 
added: “But you can’t always tell about these 
dude fellows.” 

When the whistle blew at twelve o’clock Bunny 
sat up. Now was the time to get help, and the two 
boys, listening as hard as they could, waited till 
they heard steps of approaching men above them. 
Then together they shouted with all the strength 
they could muster. 

i8o 


HOLDING 


They were still shouting when a voice answered. 

They looked up, and saw one of the workmen 
gazing down at them. 

‘‘How did you get there he demanded, seeing 
from the white faces that they were in trouble. 

“We fell, and we can’t get up,” said Joe, promptly. 
“You’ll have to get a rope or something.” 

The man’s face disappeared, and they heard him 
shouting. Presently they heard the murmur of 
other voices, and then several faces peered down 
at them. 

“Hurry up!” Joe called. “We can’t stay here 
forever, and my head hurts like fun.” 

“How did you get there some one demanded. 

“I fell, and this young fellow came down to hold 
me on,” Joe explained. “ But don’t be all day; we’ve 
been here hours already.” 

“You needn’t tell me you fell,” some one retorted; 
“there ain’t no chance of your failin’ and landin’ on 
the lower beams.” 

“I did it, anyhow,” Joe returned, irritably. “But 
I’d rather argue it out with you when I get up there. 
Hustle along now, will you !” 

“What is it, men ?” they heard a voice asking, in a 
tone of authority. 

“Couple of boys down there,” came the answer. 
“One of ’em’s Herjrick’s kid what helps the riveters. 
Don’t know the other one.” 

Bunny looked up just as Hargrave gazed down. 

“Bunny Reeves!” exclaimed the man, as he recog- 
181 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


nized the white face held up to him. “How on 
earth did you get there But without waiting for 
an answer Hargrave began giving orders right and 
left, and in a minute a stout rope was lowered while 
one of the riveters came down to them. 

“Put this rope under your arms,” said the man 
to Bunny, “and weTl have you up in no time.” 

“But how can I get past you?” demanded Bunny, 
not liking this arrangement. 

“Pll show you,” the man answered, with a smile. 
He was standing upright on that narrow beam with 
as much unconcern as if he were on level ground. 
“Get to your feet first,” he added. 

Bunny, while the rope was made taut from above, 
stood up, the man holding his arm. 

“Never you mind lookin’ down at the water; it 
won’t get away, you know. Look at the beam just 
like you was walkin’ on Broadway. Steady, up 
there!” he called, and Bunny followed him. At 
the corner the man, grasping one of the braces above 
his head, swung himself into space, leaving a clear 
path for Bunny, who, gasping at this indifference to 
danger, stepped forward, and the shift in their posi- 
tions was made. 

A moment later, with the help of the rope from 
above, he was climbing up, and was soon safe. 

It was not so easy to rescue Joe, for the boy was 
hurt more than was realized, and when he tried to 
stand he found he was very weak in his legs, and that 
his head would insist upon buzzing at a fearful rate. 

182 


HOLDING 


It was necessary, therefore, to haul him up with the 
rope while the man who had climbed down steadied 
him from behind. At last, however, he was safe, 
too, and the two boys were surrounded by a circle 
of workmen awaiting an explanation. 


XXII 


UNFAIR INTERFERENCE 

T here was hardly a word said until both boys 
were in safety, and then Hargrave, looking 
sternly at Joe, sitting on an empty rivet-keg, began 
to question him. 

“How did you happen to be down there?’’ he 
demanded. 

“One of the planks turned on me, sir, and I fell,” 
Joe explained. “I was cornin’ out to work — ” 
“You fell!” Hargrave interrupted, incredulously; 
and there was a murmur of astonishment from the 
ring of workmen. 

“Yes, sir,” answered Joe. “I must have hit my 
head on somethin’, ’cause I didn’t know nothin’ till 
I come to and found this young feller boldin’ me on. 
I thought I was a gorner!” 

“I can’t understand how it happened, but it was 
a lucky escape for you,” Hargrave commented. 

“Wouldn’t have happened once in a thousand 
times,” muttered one of the workmen. 

“Why were you here?” Hargrave went on. 

“I was cornin’ out to work, after havin’ gone in 
to see if the new bolts had been ordered,” Joe replied, 

184 


UNFAIR INTERFERENCE 


'‘Who sent you ?” 

“The man Fm workin’ with. Bill Sanders.” 

Hargrave turned to one of the men, who nodded 
affirmatively. 

“Well, Reeves, how did you get here.?” Hargrave 
asked, turning to Bunny. His tone was not assur- 
ing, and the boy felt distinctly uncomfortable. 

“I came to see you,” he answered. 

“To see me.?” Hargrave asked, in surprise. 

“Yes, about football,” Bunny explained. 

“Oh!” Hargrave snapped out the word angrily. 
“How did you get in.? It is entirely against the 
rules to allow strangers on the bridge.” 

Bunny saw Joe gazing up at him beseechingly. 
It was evident that if Hargrave knew exactly how 
he had arrived there it would mean the dismissal 
of the boy. 

“Well,” Bunny began, “they told me at your 
office that you would be here, and as I had to get 
back to school this afternoon I came right out.” 

“But how did you get on the bridge.? That is 
what I want to know,” Hargrave insisted. 

Joe looked at Bunny again in mute appeal, and 
Bunny understood. 

“Oh,” he returned, carelessly, “I came through 
a place between the fence and one of the houses.” 

“Why didn’t you go to the office.?” demanded 
Hargrave. 

“ I didn’t think they would let me out to see you, 
and I just had to.” 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“Oh, that was it,” said Hargrave. “We’ll have 
to board up that place. Now tell me how you came 
to be on those lower girders with Joe.” 

“Well,” Bunny explained, “I saw him fall, and 
when I looked down he was hanging there, just like 
a wet rag. I shouted, but no one heard me.” 

“Why didn’t you come out to the end of thef 
bridge, then?” asked Hargrave. 

“Because he was slipping off, and I had to go 
down to hold him on.” 

“Good for the young feller!” said one of the work- 
men; and there was a murmur of approval about 
the group of grimy men. 

Hargrave looked at Bunny for a moment, and then 
stretched out his hand. 

“It was a very brave thing to have done. Reeves,” 
he said, quietly. “I don’t think most boys would 
have done it. Still, you have no right on this 
bridge, and you might have been killed, which would 
have been a very serious matter. How are you, 
Joe ?” he ended, leaning down to the boy, who was 
still pale and feeling anything but vigorous. 

“I guess I’m all right,” he replied. 

“You lay off for the rest of the day,” Hargrave 
ordered. “Now come along with me to the office,” 
he added, addressing Bunny. 

“If you’ll excuse me, sir,” one of the workmen 
spoke up, stepping forward, “I just want to say a 
word to this young gentleman for savin’ my boy’s 
life. I’m Herrick,” he went on, turning to Bunny. 

1 86 


UNFAIR INTERFERENCE 


“rm Joe’s father, and I want to thank you for what 
you did. You saved his life, no doubt of that, and 
Fm grateful to you.” He held out a grimy hand 
and shook Bunny’s heartily. ‘‘It’s not every boy 
brought up like you’ve been that would have done 
it. Your father ought to be proud of you.” 

“I couldn’t have done anything else,” Bunny 
answered, “and I’m sure Joe would have done it 
for me.” 

“It’s a proper lickin’ I’d givin him if he hadn’t,” 
Herrick answered, with a threatening look at the 
white-faced boy on the rickety keg, “but that’s dif- 
ferent. He’s grown up to it, as I might say, and 
don’t think no more of walkin’ around this kind of 
work than you do the street. But I’ve known grown 
men, many of ’em, that wouldn’t have done what 
you did this day — no, not for any money on earth. 
I’m grateful, and you’re a brave lad.” 

Before he left with Hargrave, Bunny said good- 
bye to Joe, who tried to stutter his gratitude, but 
really what he was most thankful for was the fact 
that Bunny hadn’t told who had shown him the 
opening between the fence and the house. Bunny 
had kept him from a scolding or worse, and, boy- 
like, that seemed a bigger thing to him than his hav- 
ing rescued him from death. 

A little later Bunny faced Hargrave in a small 
private office in one of the temporary buildings at 
the entrance to the bridge. 

“You were the last person I expected to see out 
187 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


there,” Hargrave began. ‘Ht was a fine thing to 
do, Reeves, but hereafter stay away from work of 
this kind. It’s no place for people without ex- 
perience. Did you come alone 

Doctor MacHenry came with me from Clinton, 
and I’m to meet him this afternoon. I didn’t know 
you built bridges.” 

‘‘We build anything,” Hargrave explained. “It 
happens that we are putting up the ironwork for 
this bridge, but it might have been a sky-scraper.” 

“My father builds bridges,” Bunny said, hesi- 
tatingly. 

“Yes, I know that, too,” Hargrave answered. 
“As a matter of fact, he’s building this one.” 

“Why, I thought — ” Bunny began. 

“You thought I was building it.?” Hargrave in- 
terrupted. “No, my firm looks after some of the 
ironwork, that’s all. Your father designed the 
bridge, and is responsible for everything — from the 
piers to the painting of the electric lamps. He gives 
contracts for the various parts to different people.” 

“Oh, I see,” replied Bunny. “And does he ever 
come to the bridge .?” 

“Every day,” Hargrave assured him — “that is, 
every day when he’s in New York. He’s away a 
good deal of the time. Your father is a very busy 
man,” said Hargrave. 

“Yes, I suppose he is,” returned Bunny, a trifle 
mournfully. “Anyway, I never see him.” 

There was silence for a few moments, and then 

i88 


UNFAIR INTERFERENCE 


Bunny opened the subject that had brought him 
there. 

'‘I wanted to see you about the football, Mr. 
Hargrave,’’ he began. 

‘‘I don’t see what there is to see me about,” re- 
turned the other, with a distinct change of man- 
ner. 

“Why, I want you to come and coach us,” Bunny 
went on. “We’ve got a good team this year, and if 
you’ll come and help I’m sure we can beat the 
Academy. The fellows are working hard, and all 
of us would like you to come as soon as you can. 
We’ve been hoping you would have been there be- 
fore this.” 

“I can’t see how you could have expected me to 
come,” said Hargrave. “I want to see the team 
win, of course, and I’m always interested in what 
Clinton does; but — well, I don’t like to go where 
there seems to be a desire to get some one else. I 
suppose you couldn’t get any one else?” he added. 

“I haven’t tried,” Bunny protested. “We all 
want you to come; in fact, I don’t know what we’ll 
do if you don’t.” 

“You ought to have thought of that a good while 
ago,” Hargrave answered, with a harsh little laugh. 

“I always did think that way about it,” Bunny 
tried to explain. “It was only some of the fellows 
that are always finding fault that suggested some one 
else. They didn’t really mean it — you know how 
cranky fellows get — and now they’re ready to do 
189 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


anything to persuade you to come. Really, that\s 
true, Mr. Hargrave. There isn’t a fellow in the 
squad that doesn’t want you.” 

Hargrave was silent for some time, and Bunny 
watched him apprehensively. He didn’t know what 
was the matter, but he saw, of course, that Hargrave 
was different from the way he used to be. For one 
thing, he had always called him Bunny, like every- 
body else, and this change to the more formal 
“Reeves” was discouraging. He could understand 
Hargrave’s resenting what the fellows had done, 
but he didn’t see why he should make it a personal 
matter with him. 

“I want to tell you candidly,” Hargrave began at 
length, “that I don’t believe you know exactly what 
you are doing. You may think I haven’t been in- 
formed of all that went on at Clinton over this foot- 
ball-coach business, but I have. It all came back 
to me, as unpleasant things will, and I know your 
part in it perfectly. That is why I can’t see any 
reason for your coming to me at this late date, unless 
you have failed in your attempts to secure another 
coach, and are willing to have me because you can’t 
find any one else.” 

“But I never wanted anyone else!” Bunny pro- 
tested, vehemently. 

“Then why did you resign tne captaincy because 
the other fellows wanted me to coach ?” Hargrave 
insisted, sternly. “Oh, I know all about it,” he 
went on, without giving Bunny a chance to answer, 
190 


UNFAIR INTERFERENCE 


‘‘I had a letter from Clinton, telling me you wouldn’t 
play unless some on else coached.” 

“But that isn’t true!” Bunny cut in. 

Hargrave shook his head. “Don’t tell me that,” 
he answered, angrily. “ I thought at first that there 
must be a mistake somewhere, but when I saw Tom 
Cary a few days later, and he told me that he had 
had a letter from you saying that you hadn’t known 
I was coming back when you did know it all the 
time, I was forced to believe it was true. I don’t 
want to seem soreheaded, but I do think some con- 
sideration might have been shown me, and I’m not 
willing to take up the coaching again simply because 
you can’t get another man to do it; fact is, I didn’t 
think you were that sort of a fellow, and I’m mighty 
sorry things have turned out this way.” 

“But that isn’t the way it happened at all,” Bunny 
declared, very much distressed. “Whoever wrote 
you that didn’t tell the truth. It was just the other 
way around, and not at all the way you have it. 
I said I would resign unless you did come.” 

“Then how do you explain your letter to Cary?” 
Hargrave demanded, scornfully. 

“Oh, that was just not to hurt his feelings,” 
Bunny answered, earnestly. “You see, one of the 
boys had written to him saying that you weren’t 
coming back, and asking if he would come and 
coach. Tom asked me about it. I didn’t like to 
hurt his feelings by saying that I’d rather not have 
a coach than have him, so I just said you were 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


coming back, after all. He’s a nice fellow, and — I 
hope you understand. But really and truly, Mr. 
Hargrave, it is exactly as I say, and when you wrote 
to me in that queer way as if we weren’t friends any 
more, I didn’t know what to do, and — and, please 
believe me, because I’d rather ’most anything hap- 
pened than have you think I acted like that.” 

Bunny was so much in earnest that it was impos- 
sible for any one to doubt his word, and Hargrave 
saw that he had been intentionally misled. 

“Bunny,” he said, with a smile, “a boy who did 
what you did this morning wouldn’t lie, that I’m 
sure of.” He reached out and shook the boy’s 
hand. “I’m glad, mighty glad, to find out that I 
was wrong! Let’s forget it now, and go to lunch.” 

“I want to know who wrote that letter.” Bunny’s 
tone was dogged. 

“I think I won’t tell you,” Hargrave replied. “It 
would only make trouble.” 

“But I want to know,” Bunny persisted. “Was 
it Wallace ?” 

“No,” Hargrave answered, “it wasn’t Wallace nor 
any other football man. That much I’ll tell you; 
but it wouldn’t do you any good to know that there 
is one boy in the school who has lied and is a 
coward.” 

Bunny was forced to be satisfied with this, but he 
hadn’t forgotten the main issue. 

“Then you’ll coach he asked. 

“Yes,” answered Hargrave, with a nod, “yes, 
192 


UNFAIR INTERFERENCE 


for you know, Bunny, the fact is Tm anxious to be 
at it again. I was disappointed to think I wasn’t 
going to have the chance.” 

“Good! Good! I am glad!” Bunny exclaimed, 
with enthusiasm. “When will you come down .^” 
“I’ll turn up the last of the week,” Hargrave 
promised. “Now we’d better go to lunch. We’ve 
only a shack out there, and you won’t find it at all 
like Delmonico’s, but they make a fine oyster stew, 
and, anyway, it’s the best we can get.” 

“I don’t care what it is,” replied Bunny, laughing. 
“I’m as hungry as a bear, and could eat anything. 
I’m so glad you’re coming!” 

13 


XXIII 


THE OFFICIALS CONFER 

T he first question Doctor MacHenry asked Bun- 
ny, when they met at the station, was whether 
or not he had seen his father. 

‘H didn’t have time,” replied Bunny. ‘‘You 
see, sir, I had to go out to the bridge to see Mr. Har- 
grave.” And then he told the doctor how far he 
had to travel to find the place, but he did not say 
a word about his experience on the bridge in con- 
nection with the rescue of Joe. The doctor under- 
stood, and although he expressed his regret, he 
appreciated that under the circumstances it was 
impossible. 

“I am glad you persuaded Hargrave to come 
back,” said the doctor. “He’s a fine fellow, and I 
am always sure when he is there that he will take 
good care of you boys. I don’t know whether he’s 
a first-class football coach or not, but I do know he’s 
a fine fellow.” 

“Isn’t he!” exclaimed Bunny, with enthusiasm. 
“And he is a good coach, too. That I’m sure of.” 

“From what I’ve heard I should judge you thought 
so,” replied the doctor, with a little chuckle. 

194 


THE OFFICIALS CONFER 


“You seem to hear most things, sir, don’t you ?” 
said Bunny, after a moment. “ I often wonder who 
tells you.” 

The doctor laughed outright. 

“I don’t have to be told everything in so many 
words,” he explained. “When you have been look- 
ing after a lot of boys for a great many years, as I 
have, you begin to know what is going on, and can 
put two and two together with tolerable accuracy. 
Don’t get a notion that some one is running to me 
with tales. I haven’t found that necessary to main- 
tain school discipline. I’m glad to say. We masters 
overhear a good deal that you boys talk about, and 
just because we do not happen to take any notice of 
it doesn’t mean that we are not aware of what takes 
place.” 

“ I wonder if you know everything asked Bunny, 
rather solemnly, after a pause. 

Again the doctor laughed. 

“What are you thinking of now he asked. 

“Oh, nothing much,” answered Bunny, “only I 
was wondering, that’s all.” 

“You can count on my knowing most things, my 
boy,” returned the doctor. “For instance, I was 
informed of how you acted in this case of Hargrave. 
And I must say I was glad that, even though you 
gave up the captaincy, you were still willing to play. 
I was a little worried about that, I admit.” 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t play, sir?” 
asked Bunny. 


195 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


“I thought of the possibility,” answered the 
doctor. 

“I can^t understand why,” Bunny went on. 
“There were some of the boys thought the same 
thing. Boys do get such funny ideas sometimes.” 

Bunny made this remark with such a grown-up 
air that the doctor could not hide a smile. 

“What are you thinking of?” he asked. 

“About the Military Academy,” Bunny answered. 
“You know, Fve always thought that they weren’t 
nice fellows at all. And so did Bob Struthers, and 
all the rest of us. Well, sir, Fve found out that the 
Academy thinks the same of us! Don’t you think 
that’s funny, sir ?” 

“That comes of your football and athletics gen- 
erally,” replied the doctor, “and it’s a great mis- 
take.” 

“Yes, I think so, too,” Bunny agreed. “You 
see. Bob and I met Ted Halliday at Blue Point this 
summer. He’s the captain of the Academy team, 
and he’s one of the nicest fellows I ever knew. He 
isn’t at all the way I supposed he was. We’re most 
intimate friends now — he and I and Bob Struthers.” 

“I am very glad to hear it,” returned the doctor. 
“Fve never liked this attitude the two schools have 
toward each other. It’s very silly — very silly indeed. 
The idea you boys have that all your rivals are dif- 
ferent from you is ridiculous.” 

“That’s what Bob and I have been thinking,” 
Bunny went on. “Fve talked to a lot of the fel- 
196 


THE OFFICIALS CONFER 


lows since we’ve been back, and so has Bob; but no 
one believes us, and I wish I could do something to 
show them that we’re right. I can’t see why the two 
schools can’t be friendly, even if they do play against 
each other. As it is, it is more like a battle than 
anything else. Of course, I want to beat the Academy 
awfully, and I’m going to do everything I can to 
win, but when the game is over I don’t see why we 
can’t be friends.” 

“I agree with you entirely,” replied the doctor. 

“I’ve been puzzling over it a lot,” Bunny con- 
tinued, “but there doesn’t seem to be anything to 
do. I’ve thought we might take the Academy boys 
up to our rooms after the game and show them ’round 
generally, but I don’t believe they’d go.” 

“No, I don’t believe they would,” replied the 
doctor. 

Just then Bunny had an inspiration, and became 
a little excited over it. 

“Oh, doctor,” he exclaimed, “have I any of the 
money left that father sent for me when I went to 
the sea-shore ?” 

“I can’t tell till I see my books,” the doctor re- 
plied. “Why do you want to know.?” 

“Because,” Bunny went on, “I think if I had 
money enough it would be fine to give the two teams 
a dinner after the game — just the football boys; 
then they would get acquainted with each other. 
What do you think, sir.?” 

“A fine idea,” replied the doctor, at once — “a fine 
197 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


idea. That ought to show the Academy that we 
mean to be friendly, at any rate.” 

‘‘Then, sir,” Bunny cried, delightedly, “ITl do it! 
Father always gives me all the money I want, and 
I think he wouldn’t mind if you wrote and explained 
to him.” 

“Oh, I’ll see that the money is provided for the 
dinner,” said the doctor. 

Bunny’s face fell. “Really, sir. I’d like to do it 
all myself,” he pleaded. “It wouldn’t be quite the 
same if you paid for it, sir; and even if there isn’t 
money enough from this summer. I’m sure father 
would let me have it.” 

The doctor thought for a good while over this, and 
came to the conclusion that, after all, the money was 
a small part of it, and he knew that Mr. Reeves 
would be the last one to refuse necessary financial 
aid to allow the boy to carry it out himself. 

“It seems to me,” the doctor said, presently, 
“that if every boy on our team could pay a share 
for the dinner it might be better yet. What do you 
say to that 

“It would be nice,” admitted Bunny, without 
much enthusiasm, however, “only I don’t believe 
the fellows would want to. You see, sir, a thing like 
this has to be started. Next year they’ll do it that 
way, sure, but now — ” 

“I believe you are right,” the doctor said, as 
Bunny hesitated. “You shall give the dinner, and 
I will write your father. Even though you have the 
198 


THE OFFICIALS CONFER 


money left from this summer, I think he should 
know how it is to be spent. But I don’t anticipate 
any objection from him; in fact, Fm sure he will 
agree, so go ahead with your arrangements. It is 
your idea, and I shall leave the whole matter to 
you.” 

“Thank you, sir,” replied Bunny. “I think we 
can have it at the hotel, and ITl write to Ted Halli- 
day and see how he likes the idea. I don’t know 
why it didn’t occur to me before.” 

Bunny had a good deal to tell Bob Struthers that 
night, and it must be confessed that lessons were 
neglected while Bunny described his adventures and 
answered Bob’s endless questions. 

“You certainly have all the fun!” Bob said, en- 
viously. “I don’t see how you do it.” 

“Neither do I,” admitted Bunny, “and I’m not 
at all sure I like it. Certainly it wasn’t any fun 
sitting out on that bridge this morning. I was ’most 
scared to death.” 

“I should think you would have been,” agreed 
Bob. 

Then they talked of the dinner, and Bob was 
quite as enthusiastic as Bunny over it, and promised 
to help, though he wouldn’t be there himself. 

“It makes me want to play football,” said Bob, 
regretfully. “I wish I wasn’t so long.” 

That same evening Doctor MacHenry wrote to 
Mr. Reeves. He explained that Bunny wanted to 
give a dinner to the visiting football team from the 
199 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Military Academy after the annual game, and said 
that although he was quite willing to appropriate 
the money himself, he felt that to have the matter 
come from the boys would have a much better effect. 
Moreover, he thought that, as it was Bunny’s sug- 
gestion, the boy should be permitted to carry it 
through as he had planned. Continuing, the doc- 
tor wrote: 

“You have been so liberal in the past that I feel certain 
you will have no objection to offer on the score of expense, 
and on that assumption I have told Percival that he might 
rely on your co-operation. 

“Cannot you pay us a little visit at the time of this foot- 
ball game ? These athletic meets give an excuse, at least, 
for a reunion of my old boys, in whose welfare I cannot 
help having a more than passing interest. 

“Your boy will be delighted to see you, as will your old 
master, John MacHenry.” 

To this letter Mr. Reeves wrote a prompt reply: 

“I concur heartily in the plan for the football dinner, 
and shall feel the money well spent if it mitigates in any 
way the silly enmity between the two schools. Another 
way to further this same idea has occurred to me which I 
am sure will meet with your approval. I shall discuss it 
with you at the time of the game, for I have decided to 
accept your suggestion to pay you a visit on that day. 

“I cannot help being glad of Percivafs interest in this 
dinner, but it occurs to me that the sort of a boy who 
would have the stuff in him to carry on my work would 
200 


THE OFFICIALS CONFER 


not be thinking of the social end of the matter. I admit I 
don’t know much about him. I remember, as a little boy, 
he seemed very much afraid of the dark and cried during 
thunder-storms, which might, of course, be the result of 
his nurse’s influence. 

“I shall look forward to seeing you again, and in the 
mean time please accept my hearty thanks for your interest 
in my son. Always sincerely, your old pupil, 

‘‘D. H. Reeves.” 

Doctor MacHenry sat motionless for some min- 
utes after reading this letter. 

‘‘Strange how a mistaken fancy will fasten itself 
upon one,’’ he murmured, half aloud. “He cannot 
rid himself of the idea that his son hasn’t any ‘nerve,’ 
as he would call it. Strange — very strange indeed ! 
But some day, perhaps, he’ll learn better, and then — ” 
The old gentleman nodded, and put the letter care- 
fully away. 


XXIV 


OFF SIDE 

H argrave came to CHnton on the day he was 
expected, and even he seemed pleased with the 
first practice he saw. Undoubtedly the boys were 
more than anxious to show him that, if they had 
been critical, they at least did not mean to let him 
have the excuse of saying they would not do as he 
wanted them. They worked as they had never 
worked before, and after it was over Billy Bryan 
took Hargrave aside. 

‘‘They’re doing fine, aren’t they.?” he said, con- 
fidentially. 

“They certainly are,” Hargrave agreed. 

“Well, I’ll tell you why,” Billy went on. “Come 
over here and see it,” and Billy lead him to the steam- 
box. 

“That’s what’s doing it,” he declared, after ex- 
plaining the affair. “And you ought to see ’em 
when they come out of it — as red as lobsters, every 
one of ’em! It’s fine, fine! We should have had it 
years ago. And say, Mr. Hargrave, have you seen 
the doctor .?” 

“Not yet,” was the reply. 

202 


OFF SIDE 


^‘When you see him, you’ll be surprised,” Billy 
continued. “He’s failing — sure he is; and now that 
you’re here, see if you can’t get him to come and 
try the steam-box. It ’ll do him a world of good. 
I’ve been after him, but he won’t listen to me. Says 
I’m an old fool, and need it myself. Great joker, 
the doctor. You’ll try, won’t you, Mr. Hargrave ?” 

Hargrave promised, and went away chuckling. 

From then on the practice went ahead with unin- 
terrupted spirit. Some days, of course, were better 
than others, as is always the case, but on the whole 
there was little to complain of. All in all, they played 
fairly good football. The line worked especially 
well in the centre, which said much for Walters and 
Thornton, who, since Hargrave came, showed them- 
selves as enthusiastic as any of the boys who had 
been in the school longer. Walters in particular de- 
veloped rapidly into a fine guard, and was the main- 
stay of the centre of the line. Crawford, at tackle, 
did as well as he could, but he was slow — there was 
no doubt of that; still, he was the best man there 
was for the place, and he did seem to be trying. 

Behind the line things were not going so well. 
Bunny and Wallace, at halves, were all right, but the 
others were far from satisfactory. Curtis, who played 
at full, was too light to make the interference that 
was necessary; while Blair, at quarter, didn’t seem 
to start quickly enough, and consequently there was 
a good deal of fumbling. 

“I don’t know what we can do,” Bunny com- 

203 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


plained to Hargrave one evening, as the latter ex- 
pressed his dissatisfaction with the way the quarter 
was playing. ‘‘Unless I wait an instant to get the 
ball there is usually a fumble. Blair can’t seem to 
get started fast enough, and I know Wallace has 
the same trouble.” 

“Is there any one else asked Hargrave. He had 
only been there a few days then. 

“No, there isn’t,” Bunny answered. “That’s just 
the trouble. There’s Hillton, but he doesn’t seem 
to care about playing. I think his father doesn’t 
want him to play, although he doesn’t like to say 
so.” 

“Then we won’t bother him about it,” Hargrave 
answered, positively. “I won’t urge a boy to play 
if his parents are opposed to it. How would you 
like to try quarter 

“I had thought of it,” Bunny said; “but, you 
know, Wallace and I work pretty well together, and 
I hate to spoil that combination.” 

“Well, suppose we try it anyway, and see how it 
turns out,” suggested the coach. 

This change was a help as far as the quarter-back 
position was concerned, but left a weak place at half. 
Wallace grumbled, not without reason, that they 
lost more than they gained, and Bunny went back 
to his old position. 

Then the full-back was another source of worry, 
so that there was plenty of work to do, and every 
day brought its problems. 

204 


OFF SIDE 


In the mean time Bunny had written to Ted Halli- 
day about the dinner after the game. Ted answered 
at once, saying that he thought it would be a fine 
thing, and he hoped the fellows would like the idea. 
At any rate, he would talk it over and see. The 
Clinton boys, to whom Bunny had spoken of it, 
expressed different views, although all seemed to be 
a little doubtful of having anything to do with the 
Academy fellows, except to beat them. 

“They’ll think we’re afraid of them,” Wallace 
declared. “Besides, who wants to have anything 
to do with a crowd like that ?” 

“They say Halliday is the worst slugger that ever 
played football,” said Curtis, who was by way of be- 
ing rather inclined to use his fists himself. 

“Well, I’m sure he isn’t,” said Bunny. “I knew 
him all summer, and he’s one of the nicest fellows 
I ever met.” 

“I guess he’s different in the summer, then,” 
said Wallace. 

All in all, the boys seemed dubious of Bunny’s 
idea of entertaining the Academy team, but they 
were willing enough that the dinner should be given 
as an experiment, anyway. 

As the season advanced and the two teams began 
playing practice games, the interest became more 
and more intense. Clinton won and so did Academy, 
but a comparison of their scores against the same 
schools showed that Academy was the stronger. 
This fact began to discourage Clinton a little, and 
205 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Hargrave had hard work to keep their spirits 
up. 

‘Ht’s early in the season yet,” he told Bunny, 
who came to him much worried. “Don’t begin to 
think you’re beaten already.” 

“I don’t think so,” said Bunny, “but we aren’t 
improving the way we should. We’re not playing 
any better than we were two weeks ago, and I don’t 
see what’s the matter.” 

Nor were Bunny and Hargrave the only ones who 
discussed these chances. Walters and Thornton had 
a little plan of their own, and one afternoon in the 
middle of the week they begged to be let off from 
practice because they had some “business to attend 
to,” so they said. At first Hargrave was not going 
to permit it, but they seemed so very earnest and 
had been working so well that finally he gave his 
consent. 

Walters, who was rather intimate with Wallace, 
told him he was going to make it certain that Clinton 
would beat the Academy; but when the latter asked 
how he was going to do it, Walters winked and said 
he would find out in good time. 

Some of the boys saw Walters and Thornton get 
into an automobile and go off in the direction of the 
Academy, which was situated in a little town about 
ten miles from Clinton; but they thought nothing 
about it, nor did any one else till later. 

What they did was not disclosed till that night, 
when, upon their return, they went at once to 
206 


OFF SIDE 


Bunny’s room, and found him and Bob busy with 
lessons. 

‘‘IVe got them,” said Walters, as he came In. 
‘‘Thornton and I laid on the ground in the long 
grass and took them down as fast as they called 
them out. They’re all here, and we’ve got the 
Academy just where we want them. They’ve a good 
team all right, too.” 

“What have you.?” asked Bunny, who had no 
notion of what this was all about. 

“I’ve got the Academy’s signals right here,” an- 
nounced Walters, triumphantly; “everyone of them, 
with the plays. And the best of it is they haven’t 
an idea we have them. All we have to do now is to 
study these signals and they’re beaten.” And Wal- 
ters took a number of papers out of his pocket and 
laid them on the table. 

“Gee!” exclaimed Bob Struthers, excitedly. “How 
did you do it .?” 

“Well,” began Walters, enjoying the sensation he 
was making, “I wanted to make this game a cer- 
tainty, and I’ve been thinking about it a good deal, 
so it struck me that it wouldn’t be much of a trick 
to get their signals, especially as none of the fellows 
there know either of us. So we hired an auto and 
went over. Why, we could have gone anywhere! 
I never saw such an innocent lot of chumps. Any 
one could have gotten those signals without half 
trying if they had any nerve. Anyway, here 
they are all right, and I guess there will be a sur- 
207 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


prise in store for the Academy when they come 
over.’' 

Bunny was looking at the papers before him, 
noting the numbers and the plays they indicated. 
With his team in possession of that knowledge it 
looked certain that they would win. For a few min- 
utes he could not help feeling that Walters had really 
done something worth while, but somehow he couldn’t 
be very enthusiastic. 

“You don’t seem to think much of it,” Walters 
said, apparently hurt at Bunny’s coolness. 

“I don’t know about it,” Bunny replied, hes- 
itatingly. “It doesn’t seem quite square, does 
it ?” 

“I don’t see why not,” returned Walters and 
Thornton, in a breath. 

“They would do it if they had the chance, fast 
enough; besides, all’s fair in love and war,” the 
former asserted, irritably. “You mustn’t think that 
football is ring-around-a-rosy.” 

“I don’t see anything the matter with it,” Bob 
said, rather ashamed of his room • mate’s quixotic 
scruples. “We’re not babies, and if they didn’t 
want their signals known they ought to have seen 
that no one got them.” 

“All the colleges try to get the other teams’ signals 
if they can, and never think a thing of it,” asserted 
Walters. “You’ll find that they’re mighty careful 
to keep strangers away from the field. And what do 
you suppose they have secret practice for?” 

208 


OFF SIDE 


‘‘Oh, that’s for new plays,” said Bunny, on the 
defensive. 

“Don’t you believe it,” asserted Thornton. “My 
brother, who is at Yale, said that they wouldn’t 
write the signals for fear some one would lose the 
paper with them on. Every man on the team has 
to learn them by being told. And he says they have 
men on the watch to keep people away. That shows 
what the colleges do, all right.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” said Bunny. “Of course, 
it would give us a big advantage. We’d know just 
where the play was going, and could put our defence 
in front of it.” 

“Yes, and they would be so rattled if they saw 
we knew just what they were going to do that they 
couldn’t play for beans. We’ve got the Academy 
licked right now with those little signals there.” 

“Yes, I think we have,” agreed Bunny, “but I’m 
not ^ure we ought to use them.” 

“Oh, you make me tired!” said Walters, angrily. 

“Me too!” said Thornton. 

“Here we’ve gone to all this trouble,” Walters 
went on, “to get the signals, and now you don’t know 
whether we ought to use them. I begin to think you 
don’t want to win that game with Academy.” 

“Oh, you don’t think that,” said Bunny, with a 
laugh; “that’s silly. I do want to beat them, but I 
don’t know whether it would be any fun to win after 
we knew all their signals. Why, they couldn’t get 
a play off without our knowing exactly where the 
^4 209 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


ball was going. We ought to be able to beat ’most 
any team with an advantage like that.” 

‘'Do you want them to beat you demanded 
Walters. “You say you don’t, so I suppose you 
want to beat them. Well, there you are! All you 
have to do is to learn those signals. It won’t take 
long.” 

“That’s right!” Thornton added. 

“I’ll think it over,” answered Bunny. “There 
isn’t any hurry about it, because we wouldn’t want 
the fellows to know it until a week or so before 
the game. I’ll keep these things and think it over.” 

“I guess you’ll find it’s all right to use them,” 
said Walters. 

“I guess so, too,” echoed Thornton, as they both 
went out. 

“Maybe I will,” said Bunny. “We’ll see.” 

“It strikes me you’re rather particular, Bunny,” 
said Bob, after the others had gone. “I don’t see 
anything the matter with using those signals. Wal- 
ters and Thornton deserve a lot of credit for think- 
ing of it.” 

“Maybe they do,” said Bunny, “only — ” 

“Oh, I know what you’re going to say,” Bob cut 
in — “that it isn’t just square, and all that. Well, 
perhaps it isn’t if you look at it in a Sunday-school 
way; but this is football, and we want to win.” 

“I’m going to think about it,” said Bunny, and 
he went to bed without another word on the subject. 


XXV 


ON SIDE 

B unny didn’t go to sleep very fast that night. 

He v^as thinking hard over the problem of 
what he ought to do with these signals that Walters 
and Thornton had brought from the Academy. He 
tried to speculate on how he would feel if the matter 
had been reversed — if Ted had their signals instead 
of his having theirs. Bunny wasn’t a goody-goody 
boy by any means, and he wanted, more than any- 
thing else in the world, to win that game from the 
Academy, but somehow he felt that to beat them by 
knowing their signals would take away all the pleas- 
ure of winning. 

On the other hand, he had heard that this sort of 
thing was done at the colleges, and that, as Walters 
had said, “All was fair in love and war,” so why not 
take advantage of his opponents’ carelessness ? 

Bunny hadn’t made up his mind when he went to 
sleep that night, and most of the next day was still 
given to puzzling over the problem, so that his 
lessons suffered. Moreover, he knew that there 
would be much unfavorable criticism on the part of 
many of the boys on the team if he did not use them. 

2II 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


In the morning’s mail Bunny received a letter 
from Ted Halliday, which he opened eagerly: 

“Dear Bunny, — I don’t know what is the matter with 
our fellows over here, but they really don’t seem to want 
to come to your dinner. I’ve talked with them a lot, and I 
want to go myself, and believe, as you do, that it’s all silly 
nonsense to think we’re mortal enemies just because we 
go to different schools; but over here they can’t seem to 
see it that way, and have an idea it’s some trick or other 
on the part of Clinton. I can’t understand how they rea- 
son it out, but that’s the way they feel, and so I’m let- 
ting you know. I’ve done all I can, and called them every- 
thing I can think of, but they say ‘No,’ and insist it’s some 
scheme of yours to get the best of us. Of course, I know 
there is nothing in that, and we are going to beat you, din- 
ner or no dinner, remember that, young man; but I expect 
we’ll know we’ve been playing football by the time the 
game is over. Well, good-bye, I must go to work on my 
Caesar, which I hate, but our Latin master doesn’t seem to 
take that into consideration. Inconsiderate old chap. Sorry 
about the dinner, but I guess it’s no go. Best to Bob. 
Your particular enemy on the football field, 

“T. H. Halliday.” 

Bunny was sincerely disappointed. Somehow he 
had looked forward to that dinner with no small 
degree of pleasure, and couldn’t see any reason why 
there should be any objection to it. And yet he 
realized that Ted could do little in the matter, for 
even the Clinton team were far from enthusiastic 
over it, and in all probability if they lost the game 
212 


ON SIDE 


they would turn up missing at the dinner. Perhaps, 
after all, it was just as well that the dinner was off. 
He would have liked it, but except for Ted no one 
else seemed at all in favor of it. So he made up his 
mind to give up the idea, but the matter of the signals 
was not so easily disposed of. 

That had to be decided, and the longer he put it 
off the harder it became for him to make up his 
mind. 

While he was still pondering about it he saw 
Walters, and, running down, called him to stop. 

‘H’ve been thinking of those signals,” he began, 
‘‘and I don’t know exactly what to do about them.” 

“Well, there’s only one thing to do,” retorted 
Walters. “If you want to win the game, use them. 
If you don’t want to win it, why, keep quiet about 
it; only I think the fellows will be pretty sore if 
they find out after they have lost that they might 
have won if you hadn’t been so fussy.” 

“What makes you so sure they will win asked 
Bunny. 

“I saw them practising,” Walters answered. 
“They’ve got a good team, let me tell you. I think 
they’d make a college eleven hustle. They’re bigger 
fellows than we are, too. And, anyway. Bunny, you 
can bet if they had our signals they would use them 
fast enough. Maybe they have ours, for all you 
can tell. They might have gotten them as easy as 
we got theirs.” 

“But if we did use their signals and beat them, 

213 . 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


there wouldn’t be much satisfaction in it,” Bunny 
argued, persistently. 

‘‘Oh, wouldn’t there, though returned Walters. 
“Everybody would say we were mighty foxy to get 
their signals, and that they were dumb to let us do 
it. Besides, people would only half believe it. 
Pretty nearly every team that’s beaten claims that 
the other team knew its signals, and it doesn’t make 
any difference, does it } I tell you, the thing is 
to win! That’s what we play for, and that’s what 
the school expects us to do. Win any way you can, 
so you win! I know what I’m talking about.” 

“Yes, I suppose that’s so,” agreed Bunny. “If 
you win you’re all right, and if you lose — ” 

“Why, nobody has any use for you,” Walters 
finished for him. 

“All the same it doesn’t seem fair,” Bunny in- 
sisteds “Why, they couldn’t do anything if we 
knew all their signals!” 

“Who wants them to do anything.?” demanded 
Walters. “You talk as if you wouldn’t be satisfied 
unless they beat us.” 

“That isn’t what I mean at all,” protested Bunny. 
“Of course I want to win, but it would be a lot more 
satisfaction to beat them without any such advantage 
over them.” 

“I can see there’s no use arguing with you about 
it,” Walters concluded. “But I tell you this now: 
if you don’t use those signals of theirs, you can 
make up your mind to take a good beating when we 
214 


ON SIDE 


play. Another thing: neither the fellows on the 
team nor the school in general will be pleased to 
have you throw the game away.’’ 

Bunny returned to his room still perplexed. There 
was no doubt that he wanted to win that game with 
the Academy; also, there was no doubt that he was 
the only one who seemed to think that there was 
anything underhand in using the signals of another 
team. And it was no matter to take to Doctor 
MacHenry or Hargrave. He knew, as did all the 
boys, exactly what those two would say. They 
would not hesitate an instant to tell him to have 
nothing to do with it, and to destroy the signals at 
once. But they were men, and Bunny was old 
enough to know that they always did things in a 
certain way and talked about “precedents” and 
“ideals,” that neither Bunny nor the other boys had 
much understanding of. That was the grown-up 
attitude, the professor’s way of looking at it, and 
Bunny was no more inclined to that than Walters 
or any of the other fellows. It didn’t seem square 
to Bunny, that was all there was to it, and he knew 
that if the Academy had the Clinton signals he 
wouldn’t think it was fair, no matter what any col- 
lege team might or might not have done. He wasn’t 
thinking of morals, or ideals, or anything of that 
kind. He was just as much of a boy as any of his 
companions in the school, and he wanted to win; 
but this signal business — somehow that was dif- 
ferent. 


215 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


When Bob Struthers came in Bunny took the sub- 
ject up with him again. 

answered Bob, “Fve been thinking of it, 
and I haven’t changed my mind. I can’t see that 
there is any reason why you shouldn’t use them. 
Ted Halliday ought to be more careful to see that 
we didn’t get his signals. It was up to him, I think.” 

“Now see here,” Bunny began; “suppose we had 
thought of going over there and stealing up in the 
long grass to get them ? Suppose, instead of Walters 
and Thornton, we had been the ones, how would you 
have felt about it ? Would you have sneaked around, 
pretending to be innocent, and when no one was 
looking put down those signals and the plays as 
they were called off.?” 

“That’s different,” Bob returned, hesitatingly. 
“You’ve got the signals, and it isn’t any of your 
affair how they were gotten.” 

“Don’t you believe it isn’t any of my affair,” said 
Bunny, positively. “If I’m willing to use them I 
ought to be willing to have stolen them, for that’s 
what it is. And I know you wouldn’t have gone 
over there after them.” 

“No, I wouldn’t,” Bob admitted. “And when 
you put it that way it does seem different somehow. 
But then. Bunny, everybody does it.” 

“Maybe they do,” Bunny agreed — “ maybe they 
do; but I don’t think it’s square, and, to tell you 
the truth, I wouldn’t feel like shaking hands with 
Ted Halliday afterward.” 

216 


ON SIDE 


Bob Struthers hesitated for a long time, and the 
two argued back and forth till finally he gave in. 

"‘I guess you’re right, after all. Bunny,” he said. 
“It does seem a mean sort of business if you look 
at it the right way, but I think the fellows will be 
sore if we lose.” 

“I’m not worrying about that yet,” Bunny re- 
turned, sitting down at his desk. “I’m going to 
write to Ted now, and have it off my mind. Then 
things can happen if they like. I won’t feel badly 
about it — though,” he added, wistfully, “I do want 
to win that game.” 

Bunny told Ted that he was sorry about the din- 
ner, and he wished there was some way it could be 
fixed up, but there didn’t seem to be, and the best 
thing to do was to forget it. He went on: 

“Now I want to tell you about the enclosed papers. I 
guess you can tell what they are, all right, when you see 
them. They were given to me yesterday, and I’m sending 
them to you. It doesn’t make any difference who brought 
them to me, and I’ve been thinking about them a good deal 
since they came. But if we can’t beat you without know- 
ing your signals, I don’t want to beat you at all, so here 
they are. There may be two or three fellows on our team 
that have seen them, so you’d better change your system 
— and hereafter keep a better lookout for strangers. I 
see you are pretty sure you are going to beat us. Well, 
when you get here you’ll find it altogether different, my 
boy, and when the game is over you can say that little 
piece about pride going before a fall or something like that. 

217 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


We’re after you, Teddy, and we aren’t scared a hit. Boh 
says you are a chump never to write to him, hut don’t let 
his growls influence you. He’s hy way of being a sore- 
head anyway. So long, and get all the fun you can out 
of your football before you meet Clinton. 

“Your Bunny.” 

Once he had settled the matter, Bunny felt better. 
It was done, and there could be no further argument 
about it, though he expected an outburst of indigna- 
tion when he told Walters. And in a way he felt 
rather sorry about it, for he realized that Walters 
and Thornton had done what they thought was for 
the good of the team, and had tried to show their 
interest. Also, he feared that, as a result of his 
action, the two might stop playing altogether; but 
he couldn’t help that, though it did worry him. 

He spoke to Walters about it as soon as he saw 
him on the field that afternoon. The two walked 
olF from the rest of the fellows so no one could over- 
hear the conversation, and Bunny was rather sur- 
prised to find that the other took his announcement 
so well. 

“I thought you were going to do it,” Walters said. 
“I can’t help believing you have thrown away your 
chance to win the game, but you’re captain and can 
do what you think is right. It’s foolish, but I haven’t 
forgotten about that smoking business, and I’m with 
you whatever happens.” 

“Good!” said Bunny. “I don’t want you to 
218 


ON SIDE 


think I don’t appreciate what you did. I know it 
was for the team, and that’s all right; but, honestly, 
I didn’t think it was fair.” 

“Oh, well, if you are going to talk like a prof, 
of course it isn’t fair.” 

“I don’t mean that I’m better than any one else,” 
Bunny protested. “You know what I’m driving at 
as well as I do, only it isn’t easy to explain, and it 
does sound as if I was too good to keep. But, on 
the square. I’m sure it was better to send them 
back.” 

“All right,” said Walters, “we’ll say no more 
about it. I’ll play just as hard as ever I can, and if 
we lose — well, we lose, that’s all.” 

“We will have done the best we could, anyway,” 
said Bunny. 

“We’ll have to,” said Walters, and that ended the 
matter for the time being. 

Two days later Bunny received a letter from Ted 
Halliday that read as follows: 

“My Dear Bunny, — You’re a brick to send back those 
signals. The only thing I can see to do is for us to work 
harder to beat you, just to show you how really we ap- 
preciate your being so square. Seriously, it was mighty 
decent, and all of us over here think it was fine. I had 
the fellows together after practice the day your letter came, 
and when I told them about it, they all voted to accept 
your dinner if the invitation was still open. I said I thought 
it was, and they decided they’d be glad to come, win or 
lose, so altogether we’re beginning to find out that Clinton 
219 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


isn^t so bad as we thought it was. If you let us take back 
our regrets, then we’ll accept with pleasure.” 

^‘What is it 1 ” asked Bob Struthers, as Bunny 
danced about the room joyfully. 

“We’re going to have that dinner after all!” was 
the answer. 


XXVI 


PLAY 


3 the day for the Clinton-Academy game ap- 



proached, the excitement in both schools in- 
creased, and there was little else talked of. It had 
become a general impression that the game was to 
be a particularly close one, for although in the be- 
ginning of the season Academy seemed to have the 
best of it, Clinton had gradually improved in its 
playing till it was admitted by the most ardent 
Academy partisan that it would be a hard game to 
win. Every one at Clinton was enthusiastic, and 
it was all Hargrave and Tom Cary, who had come 
to coach the centre men, could do to keep down the 
feeling of confidence that seemed to possess the 
team. For one reason or another the boys had 
gotten it into their heads that they were sure to win, 
and this was not the best way to start into a close 
contest. Bunny also did his best to counteract this 
feeling, and the three succeeded to an extent. 

It would have been quite as bad, perhaps worse, 
if the boys had been sure that they would be de- 
feated. 

Billy Bryan, still attributing all their success to the 


221 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


steam-box, had the boys in splendid condition for 
the contest, and the game promised to be the most 
exciting that had been played between the schools 
for years. 

Of course, neither Hargrave nor Bunny were satis- 
fied with the team. It never happens that either 
coach or captain is satisfied, and that is bound to be 
so, for they know the faults as no one else can know 
them, and it is natural that they should think most 
of the weak places. Blair, at quarter, still left much 
to be desired, as did Curtis, at full; but they had 
improved, and certainly were trying as hard as they 
knew how. The Clinton line was good. There was 
no doubt of that. From end to end the boys played 
hard and fast, so Hargrave was satisfied that the 
defence would be something to be proud of. Bunny 
and Wallace were both excellent tacklers, so that 
the second line of defence would not fail at the ends, 
at least, and, after all, Blair was better in that de- 
partment of the game than anywhere else. Curtis, 
at full, was an uncertain quantity, however, and if 
Academy did get through, the chances were that 
Curtis would do little to stop the runner on his way 
to the goal - line. However, all in all, the defence 
was satisfactory. 

For the offence there was not as much confidence 
on the part of the coach. A weak quarter usually 
means a weak back field, and, in spite of Bunny and 
Wallace, who were splendid halves, the slowness of 
Blair weakened the offence proportionately. 

222 


PLAY 


The night before the game Bunny and Hargrave 
had a long talk together, and went over all the pos- 
sibilities that might arise during the game. Har- 
grave would suggest certain conditions, both offensive 
and defensive, and ask Bunny how he proposed to 
get out of them — what signals he would give when the 
ball was in such and such a situation on the first, 
second, or third down. Then, after Bunny had said 
what he would do, they discussed it thoroughly till 
the captain felt that he knew how to meet any con- 
dition that might arise. 

‘‘The only thing that worries me,” Hargrave said, 
at the end of their conversation, “is what we are 
going to do if anything happens to Blair.” 

“That’s what worries me, too,” Bunny replied. 

“Well, I hope nothing will happen; but if he’s 
hurt I don’t see anything for it but to have you go 
into quarter on offence and let Goddard go to half. 
I don’t like that arrangement any more than you 
do, but I can’t see anything else to be done.” 

“But I’m such a bum quarter,” said Bunny, with 
heartfelt regret. 

“Yes, you are,” agreed Hargrave; “but we won’t 
borrow trouble. By-the-way, I heard a rumor that 
you had the signals of the Academy team.” 

Bunny started, and looked at Hargrave to see 
what was coming. It was the first word he had 
heard of those signals for some time. 

“No, I haven’t them,” said Bunny, truthfully. 

“Well, I happened to hear that you had them,” 
223 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Hargrave went on, as he rose to go. don’t be- 
lieve much in that sort of thing, you know. I’ve 
heard of colleges that stole the signals of other 
teams, but I never met any of them. There’s a 
good deal of talk about it; but let me tell you. 
Bunny, it isn’t done. Certainly not by any of the 
colleges I’ve ever come into contact with, and I’ve 
played against all the big ones. First of all, it isn’t 
square, and, more than that, it doesn’t pay. The 
fellow who is listening to the other team’s signals 
isn’t playing the game. In other words, it’s poor 
football. I heard that yoii had given the Academy 
signals back to their captain. I’m glad you did it. 
It wouldn’t have paid to win a game that way.” 

‘'Where did you find that out.?” asked Bunny, 
rather bewildered. 

“I’ve known it for a good while,” Hargrave said. 
“It doesn’t matter where the information came 
from, but we older fellows hear most of the things 
that are going on. By-the-way, your friend Joe, 
the riveter’s helper on the bridge, has been asking 
about you. He’s coming to the game.” 

“Good!” cried Bunny. “Do you know that fel- 
low set me thinking a good deal ? Seems to me 
we’re a rather lucky bunch, we school chaps. He 
says he’s been working since he could remember.” 

“Well, that isn’t very long ago,” Hargrave re- 
plied, with a smile. “And don’t get serious about 
it. It’s all right for Joe to work, and it’s all right 
for you to go to school. The only trouble is that we 
224 


PLAY 


fellows that happen to be luckier and have fathers 
that can take care of us till we’re old enough to earn 
our livings are more or less apt to think we’re better 
than the Joes. We aren’t, Bunny, not a bit; we’re 
just luckier, that’s all, and the Joes can teach us a 
lot of things, after all. At any rate, they don’t find 
fault with everything that doesn’t suit them.” 

‘‘And he’s got nerve,” Bunny said, enthusiastically. 
“ I tell you, I wouldn’t like to work on that bridge 
every day. I had all I wanted of it.” 

“It’s all in being used to it. Bunny,” Hargrave 
explained. “He doesn’t think anything about it. 
Well, I must go along. Good-night and good-luck 
to-morrow.” And Hargrave went out. 

There was no complaint to make of the weather 
the following morning. The sun shone brightly, 
and although there was a stiff breeze blowing from 
the west, it was not too cold for the spectators, and 
still was cold enough for good football. Lessons 
that morning were rather uncertain, and had the 
masters been inclined they might have found reasons 
for a good many scoldings, but on the day of the 
Academy-Clinton game many of the professors were 
almost as much interested as the boys themselves, 
and no one was severely critical. 

The little town was very much excited, and all 
the stores were decorated for the occasion. The 
hotel was the principal place of meeting, and all 
morning long the trains brought visitors from near- 
by cities. Mrs. Struthers and Bob’s sister were com- 
15 225 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


ing, and both the boys went to the station to meet 
them. 

Although he had not thought much about it, 
Bunny was surprised to see his father get off the 
train with the Struthers, with whom he had renewed 
the acquaintance made at the sea-shore. 

‘‘Fm glad you came to the game,” said Bunny, 
hesitatingly, when they were alone together for a 
few moments. 

‘‘I wanted to see what sort of football you play,” 
said Mr. Reeves. ‘‘I don’t think much of athletics 
as a general thing. How do you expect to come 
out this afternoon .?” 

‘H don’t know,” replied Bunny, doubtfully. His 
father always seemed to put him at a disadvantage, 
and he felt very much embarrassed. ‘‘We are 
going to do the best we can,” he added. 

“Of course you will do that,” his father went on; 
“but that doesn’t win, you know. You must always 
do a little more than your best when you are in a 
contest.” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Bunny. He didn’t seem to 
be able to talk with his father, and felt that the 
latter misunderstood him. 

“And how about the dinner.?” asked Mr. Reeves. 

“We are going to have that,” answered Bunny, 
“and Fm awfully obliged to you, sir, for letting me 
give it. I think it will be fine, although I don’t 
know what will happen if we lose. Fm afraid some 
of our fellows won’t turn up.” 

226 


PLAY 


“I hope none of them will be as big babies as 
that/’ said Mr. Reeves. “And let me tell you one 
thing, my boy, it usually takes more nerve to lose 
like a gentleman than to win like one. Now I am 
going to see Doctor MacHenry. I have a little sur- 
prise for you, something to further this plan of 
friendship between the two schools, but you’ll learn 
of that at the dinner. I suppose I won’t see you till 
after the game.” 

Bunny sought out Ted Halliday as soon as the 
Academy team arrived. There was no doubt that 
the two boys were glad to see each other, but under 
the circumstances it was a trifle embarrassing for 
both of them, so Bunny didn’t stay long. He asked 
if there was anything he could do to make the visit- 
ing team comfortable, feeling, rightly, that he was, 
in a measure, the host of the Academy players; but 
there wasn’t very much said, and Bunny felt that it 
would be better for him to clear out. 

That the game had created unusual interest was 
shown by the number of people who had come to 
see it. The usually quiet little town was filled to 
overflowing with strangers. 

As Bunny was going to his room an hour or so 
before it was time to dress for the game, he became 
aware of two men coming toward him, and although 
they had a strangely familiar look, he could not 
place them for a moment or two. They didn’t seem 
altogether at home among the gay football throng, 
but Bunny saw that they had huge ribbons of crim- 
227 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


son and blue tied to the buttonholes of the lapels of 
their overcoats and that they were grinning broadly 
at sight of him. Then he recognized them, and hur- 
ried forward with outstretched hand. 

‘‘Why, Captain John and Captain SamP’ he ex- 
claimed. “How did you get here?*’ 

“Oh, we came up in the train,” answered Captain 
Sam, with a hint of pride in the accomplishment. 

“Don’t you think we never leave Blue Point?” 
demanded Captain John. “We come down here to 
see this here football business we hear so much 
about.” 

“How did you know about it.?” asked Bunny. 

“How do you think, hey ?” chuckled Captain John. 
“ Don’t we take the newspapers ? Do you reckon we 
ain’t awake all year ’cept when you summer board- 
ers come down to the shore ?” 

Bunny laughed, for it was all good-natured, and 
the two old watermen knew as well as he did that 
their presence at a football game was by no means 
usual. 

“I’ll tell you,” Captain Sam explained. “We’ve 
heard a lot of this football, and when I seen in the 
paper the other day that this Clinton school was 
havin’ a football match, I says to Captain John 
here, ‘That’s where Bunny Reeves goes,’ and he 
says, ‘What! that Bunny feller what went after the 
pirates ?’ and I says, ‘Yes,’ and then we calculated 
we’d come down and see what it was all about, and 
here we are.” 


228 


PLAY 


"‘I’m mighty glad to see you,” said Bunny. 
“Have you got seats for the game.?” 

“Oh yes,” replied Captain John. “There was 
a feller on the train had ’em to sell. We’re all right, 
though we ain’t what you’d call licensed pilots of 
this kind of sailin’. The channels look so tortuous, 
now and again; if it hadn’t been for me, Sam here 
would have been on a lee shore long ago. When do 
you calculate to start this here fracas, hey ?” 

“At two-thirty,” said Bunny, “and I’d advise you 
to go early. I see you are wearing the right colors.” 

“Sure!” replied Captain John. “As I said to 
Sam here many a time, that fer old-fashioned, up- 
to-date nerve and sand that Bunny feller had it to 
give away, and I’m wearin’ his colors. And I ex- 
pect yer to win, too, understand that. You wouldn’t 
want us to come all this way to see yer licked, would 
you?” 

“We’ll do the best we can,” said Bunny, and a 
few minutes later started again for his room. 

But he had not gotten a great way before some 
one else hailed him, and so it went. People whom 
he had never seen before stopped him to ask about 
their chances. School men who had graduated 
long before Bunny was born introduced themselves 
and wished him luck, and it seemed to Bunny that 
there was nothing in the world quite so important 
as that game. 

In the dressing-rooms Billy Bryan took them in 
charge, and went about from man to man looking 
229 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


over padding, and bandaging bruised joints. It 
was a great day for Billy, or at least he made it that, 
for he was entirely changed. He seemed to think 
it was a part of his duty to keep the boys’ minds off 
the game till the time came for them to play, so he 
went about making jokes and actually laughing till 
boys, who never saw him even smile, forgot what 
was to come in their wonder at the change in the 
old trainer. He was wise, was Billy Bryan, and he 
knew that those few minutes just before a game are 
usually ones of agony and suspense, so he tried to 
make them fly, and it was with much surprise that 
they heard Hargrave announce that it was time to 
go on the field and give them a final word of in- 
struction and encouragement. 

The grandstand shouted when they appeared, and 
the crimson and blue of Clinton waved frantically. 
Bunny lined his boys up for a few signals to start 
their blood, and gave them something to do while 
the preliminaries were going on. 

A minute later another shout announced the ar- 
rival of the Academy eleven, and presently Bunny 
and Ted, with the officials, were standing in the cen- 
tre of the field ready to decide the choice of goals. 

‘‘You call,” said Bunny, as the referee prepared 
to toss a coin. 

“Heads!” called Ted, and all three bent over to 
see the result. 

“You win. Bunny,” said Ted, nervously. 

“WeTl defend the west goal.” 

230 


PLAY 


“We’ll kick ofF then,” returned Ted. 

Bunny nodded and went back to line his team 
up, while Ted Halliday motioned his men to take 
their places in the centre of the field, and the referee 
placed the ball on a little mound on the fifty-five- 
yard line. 

“Are you ready, Clinton ?” he called, and Bunny 
signalled that he was. 

“Ready, Academy.?” 

“Yes,” answered Halliday. 

“Play!” shouted the referee, and, as his whistle 
blew, Ted ran forward to kick the ball, and the 
game was on. 


XXVII 


FIRST HALF 

I T was plain to every one, from the moment the 
game started, that Academy had the heavier team, 
and they were very fast. Every man on it ran down 
the field as if his life depended on it, and before 
Wallace, who caught the ball, could get fairly started 
in an effort to run it back he was downed on his own 
fifteen-yard line. The Academy rooters shouted joy- 
fully, and at once predicted defeat for Clinton. 

Almost immediately, however, their joy was turned 
to sorrow, for on a forward pass Bunny made forty 
yards, and would have gone on for a touchdown if 
it had not been for Ted Halliday. 

The two boys grinned at each other for a moment 
as they lay on the ground. 

‘‘ril get away next time,” said Bunny. 

“Not unless Em asleep,” answered Ted. 

“It was a good tackle,” Bunny admitted. 

“It had to be,” Ted replied. 

Wallace made ten yards on the next run, and Blair 
immediately after carried the ball from quarter-back 
for fifteen more, making a first down on Academy’s 
thirty-yard line. 

232 


FIRST HALF 


Clinton supporters stood up in the grandstand 
and cheered wildly; it seemed as if nothing would 
stop their team, and the crimson and blue waved 
frantically. 

But Ted Halliday rallied his team, and for the 
next two plays Clinton failed to gain, and Academy 
breathed more freely. Then Bunny gave a signal 
for another forward pass, and when the play ended 
he was clasping the ball tightly on Academy’s twenty- 
yard line, while the referee called ‘‘First down for 
Clinton!” amid redoubled shouting from the grand- 
stand. 

It began to look as if, in spite of all that had been 
predicted of Clinton’s weak olFence, they would score, 
and the excitement was extreme. Bunny, realizing 
how important it was not to make any mistake, 
cautioned his men to be careful. He knew that if 
they scored it would make a world of difference to 
the outcome of the game, for it would discourage 
the Academy team very much indeed, besides putting 
them on the offensive for the rest of the play, while 
he could kick out of danger whenever it was necessary. 

They were inside the twenty-five-yard line now, 
and well toward the left side of the field. Bunny 
yanked at his trousers, and gave a signal for an end 
run to the right with Wallace carrying the ball. 

Academy was desperate. Their right end danced 
up and down, expecting naturally that the play 
would come his way, and determined to stop it. As 
the ball was snapped he darted across the line, only 
^33 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


to meet Bunny, whose business it was to put him 
out of the play. Bunny tried, but the Academy end 
dodged, and although Wallace struggled to shake 
him off, he found it impossible, and fell for a three- 
yard loss. 

‘^It was my fault,” said Bunny, as he went to help 
him up. ‘‘I missed the end, but I won’t let it hap- 
pen again.” 

It was the second down, with twenty-three yards 
between the Clinton eleven and a touchdown. 
Bunny gave a signal for a straight buck through 
Walters at guard, and Curtis, doing as well as he 
could, with Wallace and Bunny pushing him, gained 
the three yards that had been lost and one more, 
putting the ball on Academy’s nineteen-yard line. 

‘‘Now he ought to try for a goal from the field,” 
said Hargrave to Tom Cary on the side-lines, but 
Bunny didn’t. He took the ball himself and car- 
ried it through the tackle, with the entire team behind 
him helping. 

There was intense anxiety for a moment on both 
stands. Each side claimed the ball, but the referee 
called the linesmen to settle the question, and all 
was silent while these two with the flags measured 
the distance gained. 

“First down for Clinton!” called the referee, and 
he was answered by a frantic cheer from the crimson 
and blue. 

But the Academy boys in the grandstand hadn’t 
given up by any means. 


234 


FIRST HALF 


“Hold ’em, Academy! Hold ’em, Academy!” 
they shouted, giving their cheer with a will, and 
their team responded bravely. 

For the next two plays the ball hardly changed 
its position near the ten-yard line. Plunges failed 
to gain, and the panting Academy team gritted their 
teeth and held like a stone wall. 

“Come on, fellows, all together now!” shouted 
Bunny, as he gave a signal. It meant a touchdown 
or the loss of the ball, and every one of those twenty- 
two boys knew it. 

“Hold ’em!” called Ted Halliday. “Watch the 
right side of the line there, Marks!” he cautioned 
the end. 

“Change signal!” called Bunny, and he stood be- 
hind his own line perplexed for a moment. 

Ten yards seemed such a little way to gain after 
they had been carrying the ball so splendidly before, 
but it was a good way from a touchdown for all that. 

Bunny gave another signal; again Ted Halliday 
cautioned his team, and an instant later the ball 
was snapped. 

The two lines surged together, and then, as some- 
times happens, the ball popped up behind the Clinton 
line, and it seemed to lie there unobserved by any 
of the players. 

It is probable that for a few seconds Curtis, who 
had carried the ball, was the only man on either 
team who knew that it had been fumbled. It was 
knocked out of his hands as he struck the line, but 

235 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


all the boys were so intent to get to where the man 
who was supposed to be carrying it was that they 
lost sight of the ball itself. And how the grand- 
stand did shout! Each group of partisans tried to 
tell their team where the ball was, shouted to them 
that it was on the ground waiting for some one to 
pick it up, and still no one saw it. 

Of course, it was only there a few seconds, but it 
seemed much longer to those watching, till Marks, 
Academy’s right end, spied it, and made a dive in its 
direction. Almost at the same instant Crawford 
saw it, too, and the boys came together as they 
struggled for the ball. Again there was a breathless 
suspense, and the referee, pulling the two men apart, 
finally straightened up and gave his decision. 

“First down for Academy!” he called; and for 
the time being, at least, the visitors had saved their 
goal-line. 

With the ball in his possession, Ted Halliday lost 
no time in kicking out of danger, and punted on the 
next play. 

Bunny, in the back field with Curtis, tried to ad- 
vance, but Academy had two good ends, and he was 
downed almost as he caught the ball on Academy’s 
forty-yard line. 

Again Clinton took up the task of working the ball 
down the field, but it did not seem as easy as it had 
in those first few minutes of play. Perhaps Academy 
was suffering a little from stage-fright in the be- 
ginning; however that may be, they certainly put up 
236 


FIRST HALF 


a stubborn defence from then on, and, try as he 
would. Bunny failed to make a first down, and was 
forced to kick. 

His punt resulted in a touchback, and Academy 
kicked off from behind their twenty-five-yard 
line. Wallace, receiving it, ran ten yards before he 
was downed, and again Clinton had first down on 
Academy’s forty -yard line, but shortly after were 
obliged to kick once more. 

So it went, the ball in Academy’s territory most 
of the time, each team finding it difficult to gain, 
and Clinton forced to be satisfied to keep the Academy 
eleven on the defensive through most of the half. 

Toward the close, however, Walters, who had 
been outplaying his opponent, told Bunny that if he 
would put plays through the line at guard, he would 
guarantee to make an opening that an ‘‘ice-wagon 
could go through,” as he put it. 

Bunny took the ball himself for a straight plunge 
on the next play, and, with all the team behind him, 
gained ten yards before Ted Halliday, throwing him- 
self under the struggling mass, succeeded in stop- 
ping It. 

“Do it again!” shouted Walters, much excited, 
and Bunny did, with much the same result. On the 
next play he pretended he would do the same thing, 
which caused the Academy line to close in tightly, 
and then Bunny, with good judgment, signalled for 
a forward pass, and, escaping the end, carried the 
ball down to Academy’s ten-yard line once more. 

237 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


The Clinton supporters nearly went mad at the 
prospect of a score, but the Academy, remembering 
the splendid stand their team had made earlier in 
the game, rallied them with shouts of “Hold ’em. 
Academy!” and never ceased their encouraging 
cheer. 

“Now come on, fellows! Everybody together! 
This is where we must score!” called Bunny, as he 
gave a signal for a plunge through Walters. And 
every man on the Clinton team responded with all 
that was in him, and the ball was not stopped until 
it was within four yards of the coveted goal-line. 

“Hold ’em. Academy!” 

“Rah! Rah! Rah! C-L-I-N-T-O-N, Clinton!” 
shouted the crowd waving the crimson and blue. 

Hargrave, with his hands in his pockets, stood 
motionless on the side-lines, with Billy Bryan, Tom 
Cary, and a dozen subs squatting around him. 
None of them had anything to say. They watched 
intently, each anxiously wondering what the next 
play would bring forth. 

Across the field came the signal, and Hargrave 
nodded. “That’s right. Bunny,” he muttered. 

Behind his own line Ted Halliday was running 
from man to man patting them on the back and im- 
ploring them to hold. For an instant there was 
silence over the field as the entire crowd waited 
breathlessly for the ball to be snapped. 

Back it came, and there was a momentary pause; 
then Bunny, having learned that it is not the part 
238 


FIRST HALF 


of wisdom to plunge into the centre of a line defend- 
ing inside its ten-yard mark, blocked Marks, the 
Academy end, and Wallace, carrying the ball, sped 
to the right and crossed the line for a touchdown. 

On the side-lines the Clinton subs were shaking 
hands with one another when they weren’t throwing 
blankets up in the air, and all the time were yelling 
at the top of their lungs. Hargrave, much pleased 
but more dignified, smiled grimly when he reminded 
the boys about him that the game wasn’t over yet 
by a good deal. 

Billy Bryan, as taciturn as ever, muttered to him- 
self something about a steam-box, while in the grand- 
stand Clinton shouted themselves hoarse and waved 
their flags madly. 

There was a moment’s pause in the demonstrations 
of delight while the goal was being kicked, but as 
Bunny put the ball cleanly between the posts, the 
shouting broke forth with renewed vigor, and Clinton 
congratulated itself and acted generally as if the 
game had been won. 

A little later the half ended. Bunny and his team 
found themselves in the gymnasium, glad to rest and 
very happy. 


XXVIII 


INTERMISSION 

I N the dressing-rooms the coaches immediately 
took charge. The Academy eleven was exhorted 
not to give up, and assured that they could score in 
the next half if they took advantage of the weak- 
nesses of their opponents, which were pointed out 
to them in detail. Ted Halliday shook his head dog- 
gedly, and the serious faces of the boys about him 
showed that they had no intention of quitting, and 
were determined to win if that were possible. 

Hargrave had, perhaps, the hardest task. He was 
pleased, of course, at the showing Clinton had made, 
but he was by no means satisfied. Moreover, his 
team was optimistic: rather proud of themselves, 
and felt assured that to all intents and purposes the 
game had been won. They could not help knowing 
that the ball had remained in Academy’s territory 
practically the entire half, and that seemed to show 
the relative strength of the two teams. Of course, 
Hargrave criticised and found fault with nearly 
every one, prophesying that the next half would he 
different; but the boys didn’t really believe this, 
and took for granted that he would talk this way 
240 


INTERMISSION 


no matter what they might have done. It was a 
part of the coaches’ business. 

Hargrave knew what overconfidence often leads 
to, and going from man to man he growled at them 
severely, telling them their faults and doing the best 
he could to counteract their certainty. He warned 
them that it had taken the entire half to score, and 
that on more than one occasion the Academy team 
had held them near their goal; that, with the wind 
against them, as it would be when the game started 
again, they would find that it was not so easy to 
keep their opponents on the defensive. He tried 
to impress upon them the fact that Academy had a 
good team, and that, instead of its being easier, it 
would be much harder the next half. 

‘‘And now see here,” he ended, addressing the 
entire squad, “you want to get this notion that the 
game is won out of your heads. You have to play 
harder or you’ll find yourselves beaten; remember 
that, before this game is over, you are all going to 
feel tired. I know, because I’ve been through it, 
and, let me tell you, that is the time when close games 
are won or lost. When your legs begin to ache, 
and you feel bruised and wish the game was over, 
that’s the time you want to take a brace and forget 
all about yourselves. I don’t want to see a fellow 
on the team running slowly because he thinks some 
one else will help the runner. Keep after him just 
the same, and you’ll find that nine times out of ten 
you’ll reach him in time to help when he most needs 
241 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


it. And another thing. It isn’t long runs that count 
in the end. It is the sure gains of a few yards at a 
time with every man on the eleven helping; the 
steady pounding away at it with never a let-up; and 
that’s what you have before you if you want to win 
this game.” 

The boys listened, nodded their heads in agree- 
ment, and believed in their hearts that it was all 
right and there wasn’t anything to worry about. 

Bunny sat in the corner of the dressing-room, 
more or less absorbed in his own thoughts. He was 
conscious of a change in his feelings toward the out- 
come of the game. Heretofore his desire to win was 
all more or less impersonal — a matter of glory for 
the school and the team. But now, with the knowl- 
edge that his father was looking on, the result took 
on a much more serious aspect as far as he was con- 
cerned. It had become a very personal matter with 
Bunny. It was as if he were on trial to prove himself 
worthy of his father’s consideration, to counteract 
the impression made by the canoe-race — to show, in 
a word, that he did have ‘‘nerve,” He was con- 
fident, as were his team-mates, that they would win; 
but he was more anxious than they, and could not 
rid himself of the possibility that something might 
happen to defeat him. 

“We must win!” he said to himself. “We must 
win, and that’s all there is to it!” 

Meanwhile the usual scene between the half's was 
going on out on the field. Old graduates of both 

242 


INTERMISSION 


schools were renewing bygone friendships as they 
moved slowly along the side-lines to stir their blood 
after sitting so long in the grandstand. The Clinton 
boys shouted their predictions of victory, adding 
pointed remarks which were answered in kind, thus 
betraying the bitter rivalry between the schools. 
Doctor MacHenry and Mr. Reeves commented upon 
it, and the latter was about to refer to the football 
dinner when an unfamiliar voice speaking behind 
them arrested his attention. 

'‘Well, fer unadulterated, simon-pure nerve and 
sand, I never see a boy like that Bunny feller!'’ 

Mr. Reeves and the doctor turned to face the two 
old captains. 

"I think I heard you talking of my boy," said the 
former, with a smile. "Something of nerve, I think." 

"Well, I guess we did, if you mean that Bunny 
feller," Captain John responded. "Why, say, I was 
just speakin' to Captain Sam about it, and he agrees 
with me that fer died-in-the-wool, warranted, high- 
grade nerve and sand that Bunny feller can’t be beat. 
Am I right he ended, appealing to his companion. 

"You certainly are!" Captain Sam affirmed. 
"And we know what we’re a-talkin’ about, too." 

"I suppose you mean this football game.?" Mr. 
Reeves remarked. 

"Oh, it ain’t no game we’re talkin’ about," Cap- 
tain John replied. "We ain’t what you might call 
experts with this here rough-and-tumble business. 
No, sir; we’re talkin’ about what happened this sum- 

243 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


mer down by Blue Point. If it hadn’t been fer him 
there’d be a lot of pirate fellers livin’ easy this win- 
ter, all right.” 

“Pirates!” exclaimed Doctor MacHenry and Mr. 
Reeves together. 

“That’s what we said — pirates!” Captain Sam 
affirmed. 

“What is this all about asked Mr. Reeves, 
turning to the doctor. 

“ I have no idea,” said that gentleman. 

“I’m the boy’s father,” Mr. Reeves went on, ad- 
dressing the two captains. “You see. I’m inter- 
ested — ” 

“Is that so.?” Captain John interrupted, holding 
out a large hand. “I want to shake with you. I 
can see you’re mighty proud of your son, and I 
don’t know as I blame you none, fer, as I was sayin’, 
fer rock-ballasted, square-rigged, copper-bottomed 
nerve and sand, he’s got most men and all boys beat 
a mile.” 

“ But what about those pirates .?” Mr. Reeves de- 
manded. “I haven’t heard of them before.” 

The two old captains looked at each other, and 
then at the two men before them. 

“Go 'long,” said Captain John, incredulously, 
“you’re foolin’. Why, everybody knows about that.” 

“I pledge you my word I have no idea what you 
are talking about,” Mr. Reeves protested, earnestly. 

“You mean he ain’t never told you.?” Captain 
Sam insisted. 


244 


INTERMISSION 


Mr. Reeves shook his head. 

“Not how he stuck to them pirates down the bay 
when they was tryin’ to kill him?’’ Captain John put 
in. “How he follered ’em without no sign of help 
cornin’, and they doin’ all they knew how to drown 
him ? You mean to tell me he ain’t never told you 
about the OlympP^* 

“This is the first word I have heard of it,” replied 
Mr. Reeves. 

Again the two captains looked at each other in 
astonishment. 

“Where have you been, may I ask said Captain 
Sam. “It ain’t natural fer a boy not to tell his dad 
a thing like that. I don’t remember to have seen 
you at Blue Point, now I come to think of it.” 

“Please tell me the story,” Mr. Reeves begged; 
and forthwith the two captains, very familiar with 
the tale from many repetitions, went over it once 
more while the old doctor and Mr. Reeves listened 
attentively. At the end Mr. Reeves shook hands 
with them. 

“I can’t tell you how glad I am that I met you,” 
he said, gravely. “What you tell me about my boy 
makes me very proud of him, indeed. I wish I had 
known it sooner.” 

“There ain’t a boy or man ’long Barnegat way as 
don’t know of it,” Captain John said, as they parted; 
“and as I was sayin’, fer home-grown, hand-picked, 
corn-fed nerve and sand, that Bunny feller runs 
fourteen to the dozen. Ain’t I right, Sam ?” 

245 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Doctor MacHenry and Mr. Reeves walked slowly 
away, the latter busy with many new thoughts. 
Now and then he would shake his head and murmur, 
half-aloud, ‘‘I was wrong, quite wrong,” and the 
old doctor, catching the words, would nod an affirm- 
ative. 

'‘Doctor MacHenry,” began Mr. Reeves, at length, 
" Tve been doing him an injustice — a gross injustice, 
sir. He’s a fine boy!” 

"I have been telling you that for nearly ten 
years,” replied the doctor, "but you were so certain 
of your view of the matter that you would persist 
in thinking I didn’t know what I was talking about.” 

"I was mistaken,” confessed Mr. Reeves, heartily 
— "I was entirely mistaken, but I thought you were 
judging only by athletics.” 

"You must give me credit for knowing boys, con- 
sidering how long I have had to do with them,” 
the doctor went on. "I don’t judge by athletics, 
although, in spite of what you seem to think, it does 
take courage and perseverance, what you call ‘nerve,’ 
to play football or run a mile or row a boat. But 
that is neither here nor there. Your son has always 
been a brave boy in all things, and every one knows 
it except his father. It provoked me on more than 
one occasion, and I rather regretted not having you 
in the school any longer. I should have tried to im- 
press the lesson upon you.” The doctor smiled, 
but was no less earnest on that account. 

Mr. Reeves replied, heartily: "Scold me by all 
246 


INTERMISSION 


means, doctor, I deserve it;, but you had better seize 
the present opportunity, you shall not have another. 
I shall make it up to the boy from this day on. He’s 
a fine boy, sir. Think of his sticking to those 
thieves! I call that fine! And he does play good 
football, you can’t deny that. Yes, sir, I shall 
make it up to him, as he deserves.” 

Doctor MacHenry chuckled at Mr. Reeves’s grow- 
ing enthusiasm over Bunny. 

“But you haven’t said a word about his studies 
yet,” he remarked, casually. “I suppose you will 
now take an interest in them also ?” 

Mr. Reeves laughed as he caught the other’s 
meaning. “ I shall continue to leave those matters 
to you, as heretofore. I think I should have heard 
if he had been far behind.” 

“Yes,” answered the doctor — ‘‘yes, I should have 
let you know; but I may tell you that he does as well 
as the average, and there is no complaint on that 
score.” 

“Isn’t he almost too perfect?” asked Mr. Reeves,' 
with a smile. 

“Oh, by no means!” answered the doctor, with a 
chuckle. “He’s just an ordinary boy, so don’t 
begin to grow too proud of him. I could tell you 
tales of your son that would tend to take the edge 
off his perfection, but I don’t fancy those would be 
of much interest.” 

“My dear doctor, I don’t want my boy to be 
perfect,” answered Mr. Reeves, earnestly. “If he’s 

247 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


brave and honest, that’s all I want. Well, I find 
he is that, and I feel that I have not done my duty 
toward him as I should. I shall make it up to him, 
sir. I wish I could see him this minute. And, by- 
the-way, Fm very glad I planned that little surprise 
for his dinner. I want to tell you about it — ” 

But just then the whistle blew to clear the field, 
and a few minutes later the teams appeared, ready 
for the second half. 


XXIX 


SECOND HALF 

I T was apparent at once to any of the spectators 
that the Academy team had no idea of giving up 
the contest. They came out for the second half on 
the jump, and the moment the ball was kicked 
started up the field with a determination that showed 
they meant to score. There were no spectacular 
runs, no brilliant rushes, but just a steady push, 
push, push, making first down after first down with 
only a margin of a yard or two. Clinton looked on at 
first with a rather tolerant amusement that changed 
to a more serious view of the matter as Academy 
forced the ball inside the twenty-five-yard line. Then 
their anxiety became apparent. 

The cheers from the grandstand became anxious 
in tone. It was Clinton now that was calling, “Hold 
’em! hold ’em!” It was Academy supporters who 
cheered their team wildly as the ball came nearer 
and nearer the goal-line. 

Bunny shouted to his men to brace up, and threw 
himself frantically into the scrimmages in a desperate 
effort to stop the rush. But on it went, slowly, but 
with a certainty that caused many heartaches in the 

249 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Clinton stand. There was no stopping them. Acad- 
emy, without once losing it, forced the ball over the 
line for a touchdown within ten minutes of the open- 
ing of the second half, and Ted Halliday, with great 
precision, kicked the goal, and the score was tied. 
Now was the time that nerve and pluck would count. 
So evenly were the teams matched that no one could 
tell what the outcome might be. Hargrave, at least, 
realized that from then on it was a question which 
eleven would have the grit to go on fighting, and not 
give in to tired muscles and panting lungs. The real 
test would come toward the close of the game, when 
the shadows began to grow long and a chill came 
into the air. 

Hargrave didn’t deceive himself about the Academy 
team. They were a hard-working, determined lot 
of boys who were captained by a fine player as well 
as a good general. He knew that the reaction from 
almost certain winning to only an even break would 
brace his team materially, and that the likelihood of 
Academy scoring again so easily was doubtful. But 
would Clinton score .? The answer to that was most 
uncertain. Hargrave hoped against hope, and pinned 
his faith on Bunny. 

And Bunny, out in the field, was thinking very 
much the same thing, and planning his campaign 
accordingly. He decided that it would be wisdom 
to let the Academy keep the ball, believing that it 
was more wearing for a team to play on the offensive 
than on the defensive, and therefore making up his 
250 


SECOND HALF 


mind that for the time being, at any rate, he would 
kick at every opportunity, hoping that Ted Halli- 
day would tire his men out in attempting to score 
again. Of course, he didn’t mean to keep this up 
indefinitely; but through half the playing -time at 
least he thought it would be good policy. 

Much to his surprise, however, Ted returned the 
kick-off on the first down. He, too, had decided that 
it would be sensible to tire the other team, and so 
for a while the ball went back and forth, while the 
ends panted from running up and down the field. 

Whether the grandstand appreciated these tactics 
is very doubtful, for from both contingents there was 
grumbling at the way things were going — the Acad- 
emy partisans feeling that their eleven could easily 
repeat their previous scoring, while Clinton follow- 
ers were much disappointed, and criticised Bunny 
severely for not at once making a touchdown. 

Bunny worried when he found that Ted Halliday 
was bent on the same plan that he had decided on. 
It is disconcerting when your own schemes are met 
so promptly with similar ones, and he would have 
liked to consult Hargrave upon what he should do. 
That, however, was out of the question. Bunny 
knew that once the game began he could not expect 
any help from the side-lines, so he wasted no time 
in vain longings. 

There was also a hope and a danger in the present 
way the game was going. If Halliday or the Acad- 
emy full-back should fumble a catch it would prob- 
251 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


ably result in one of the Clinton’s ends getting it 
well down in Academy’s territory, a fine place to 
begin an aggressive campaign against the goal-line; 
but, on the other hand, there was the same danger 
that Bunny or Curtis might miss a catch, and Bunny 
thought of that each time the ball came sailing tow- 
ard him, and breathed more comfortably when he 
felt it safe in his own arms or was sure that Curtis 
had it. But what was he to do ? Things could not 
go on like this much longer. 

The change came, as it often does, without any 
intention on Bunny’s part. He had just received a 
kicked ball on his own thirty-yard line, and when the 
teams lined up he gave a signal for a punt, as usual. 

Bunny took his position (for he always did the 
punting himself), and both teams, in a measure, hav- 
ing gotten into the habit of expecting this play, were 
more or less careless. 

This showed itself first in the Clinton line. As the 
ball was snapped, the centre men, overzealous and 
intent upon getting down the field to prevent a long 
run back, let their opponents , through too quickly, 
and as Bunny caught the ball he saw two Academy 
men in front of him, ready to block the kick. Bunny 
didn’t hesitate, but, turning quickly, tore around the 
end all alone. 

So unexpected was this move that the Academy 
ends and halves were completely fooled. Before any- 
body realized what was going on. Bunny was past the 
line of scrimmage and had an open field before him. 

252 


SECOND HALF 


“A fake kick!” cried the grandstand. “Foxy 
Bunny fooled ’em!” And then they yelled franti- 
cally as the Clinton captain sped on toward the 
goal-line, which meant victory for his team. 

“He’ll make it!” they shouted; but they didn’t 
know Ted Halliday, and when the two friends fell 
together, both struggling as hard as they knew how, 
there was a murmur of disappointment. 

Bunny was on his feet in an instant. 

“Line up! Line up!” he called to his men, for 
he knew the advisability of following up his run 
with a quick play, which not only disconcerts the 
other team, but, in a way, carries on the enthusiasm 
that a previous good play created. 

The Clinton eleven responded promptly, and Bun- 
ny signalled for Wallace to take the ball through 
tackle, which he did for a four-yard gain, bringing 
the ball on Academy’s fifteen-yard line. 

But that was the end of Clinton’s forward march 
toward the goal. On the next down they lost three 
yards, so that Bunny had nine to gain on the third 
down. 

There was only one thing to do — try a goal from 
the field, and Bunny failed. Gloom settled down on 
the Clinton supporters, and the Academy cheered 
lustily. 

For the next ten minutes the same kicking tactics 
were kept up till Curtis fumbled a punt on his thirty- 
yard line, and Marks, Academy’s right end, fell on 
the ball. 


253 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


Bunny’s heart sank for an instant, and then, re- 
membering that his men were all feeling the same 
way, he rallied them with spirit. 

‘‘All right, boys,” he called, cheerfully, “weTl take 
it away from them! Line up!” And the team re- 
sponded promptly. 

Academy made two trials to advance the ball with- 
out success, and Ted Halliday signalled for a drop- 
kick, and went back to his place to make the try. 

The suspense was maddening for Clinton. Ted 
was most deliberate taking his stand before the goal- 
posts, and measuring the distance and direction be- 
fore giving the signal for the pass. 

“Now, hold them,” he said, finally, and an instant 
later the ball was in his hands. Still, with unusual 
calmness, he dropped the ball to the ground and 
kicked strongly. For a moment there was uncer- 
tainty, then a roar of joy from Academy, and the 
referee held up his hand to indicate that the effort 
had been successful. 

The score stood: Academy, 9; Clinton, 6. 

“And I taught Ted to do that this summer!” 
thought Bunny, with despair in his heart. 

As he trotted back after the ball he felt that they 
were beaten, and he wondered what his father was 
thinking. “And I taught him to do it,” he mur- 
mured, again and again. 

As he returned to the centre of the field, he saw 
his team-mates walking slowly and listlessly to their 
places. It was plain to any one that they were giv- 

254 


SECOND HALF 


ing up, and this roused all the fighting spirit the boy 
possessed. 

‘‘Come on,” he called, roughly, “this isn’t the 
time to stop! Wallace, get a move on you! Here, 
Thornton, skip up there to your place! What’s the 
matter with you fellows ^ Haven’t you any nerve ^ 
Are you going to quit like a lot of babies ^ Come on 
and take the ball away from them! We’ve got to 
score !” 

They rallied, and from then on the battle waged 
desperately. There was no time now for dilatory 
strategy. Each team held tenaciously to the ball till, 
finding it impossible to advance, they were forced to 
kick. Occasionally a first down was made, and the 
grandstand cheered hopefully; but the defence al- 
ways proved equal to stopping any consistent gain, 
and the ball changed hands frequently. 

Clinton had the ball in the centre of the field when 
the referee told the captains that there were only 
five minutes more to play. That was the beginning 
of the end. It was do or die, and Bunny knew that 
he must hold the ball or the chances of scoring were 
gone. 

“Now fellows,” he called, “we’ve just got to do 
it! We’re beaten if we don’t score a touchdown!” 

“Come on, we’ll do it!” cried Walters, and the 
others nodded to show their determination, and 
settled in their places, awaiting the signal. 

“Hold ’em. Academy! Hold ’em Academy!” 
came the long-drawn cry from the bleachers. 

255 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 

‘‘Rah! Rah! Rah! C-L-I-N-T-O-N, Clinton !’’ 
came the answering cheer. 

Ted Halliday, knowing the crisis, spoke quietly 
to his men, and went from one to the other, giving 
each a pat of encouragement. “Watch the end 
there, Marks,” he cautioned, and the two teams 
faced each other for the final struggle. 

“Thirteen — twenty-two — sixty-seven!” called Bun- 
ny, and his voice carried to the side-lines, where 
Hargrave paced nervously up and down. 

“It’s risky,” he murmured, “but the kid has to 
risk something at this stage of the game.” 

As he spoke the ball was put in play, but for a 
moment nothing but a struggling mass of boys could 
be noted; then, suddenly, Wallace came out of the 
middle of the scrimmage with a clear field ahead 
of him, only to trip, and, before he could recover, 
Halliday was upon him. 

“Second down!” called the referee. 

Wallace got to his feet, grumbling. 

“How can a fellow do anything when no one 
holds .?” he demanded. 

“It would have been all right if you’d followed 
your signal,” Crawford retorted. 

“Keep quiet,” said Bunny; “we haven’t any time 
to scrap now.” But the men were tired, a little 
nervous, and not themselves, so it is not to be won- 
dered at if they were a trifle peevish. 

“You think you’re a wonder, don’t you growled 
Wallace. 


256 


SECOND HALF 


“You missed the signal, and it was your fault,’’ 
Blair cut in. 

“That’s right,” said Thornton; and in a moment 
the whole team would have been taking a hand in 
the argument, but Bunny, seeing how things were 
going, gave a signal, and the men went to their 
places. 

Whether it was this talk, or whether is was because 
they were tired and disappointed, it is hard to tell; 
but whatever it was, the whole team suddenly felt 
irritated. They had been trying so hard only to be 
beaten, and they became rather savage. Even 
Bunny, who was not given to losing his temper, 
found himself distinctly angry, and he snapped out 
the signals in a way that showed he was well-nigh 
desperate. 

“I’ll take the ball myself till I drop,” he mut- 
tered to himself, and forthwith began a series of the 
most reckless rushes that had been seen on the field 
that day. 

Time after time Bunny took the ball himself, 
plunging into the line, making plays off tackle, run- 
ning the ends, never stopping for breath, driving 
himself and his men with all his power, while he 
shouted for them to “Line up!” And the whole 
team followed his lead half blindly, panting frantical- 
ly for breath, hearing only the signals, and knowing 
nothing but that they must push I — and push 1 — and 
push! 

Inside the twenty-five-yard line there was a mo- 
17 257 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


merit’s pause as one of the Academy men asked for 
time out; then the mad rush went on four or five 
yards at a time, with Bunny carrying the ball on each 
play. Again and again he would hurl himself for- 
ward till those on the side-lines thought he would 
drop from sheer exhaustion; but on each down he 
would struggle up again, shouting his signal for the 
next play and the invariable ‘‘Line up!” though his 
cry came less and less clear, and his team-mates heard 
his panting even above their own labored breathing. 
On went Bunny, and the distance lessened gradually 
but surely. At the five-yard line the struggle became 
frantic. 

“Stop him!” shouted Ted Halliday. “Can’t you 
fellows stop one man ?” 

But on Bunny went, and at the next down Clinton 
was only two yards from the coveted line. 

Bunny staggered to his feet. 

“Line up! Twenty-four — twenty-two — thirty- 
seven!” he called; and once more the ball came back 
to him, and once more Bunny struggled forward. As 
he struck the line he actually bounded back, so tight 
was it; but never pausing for an instant, he started 
forward again, and then, putting every effort that he 
had left in him, he reeled off the struggling mass of 
legs and arms, and staggered across the goal-line. 

There was no stopping the crowd after that. They 
came swarming on the field, shouting at the top of 
their lungs, lifting up their voices in one mad shout 
of praise for Bunny Reeves. Even the Academy 
258 


SECOND HALF 


fellows could not withhold their admiration, disap- 
pointed though they were, and the Clinton boys 
went fairly wild. 

Hargrave, with Billy Bryan and Tom Cary behind 
him, shoved his way through the throng that sur- 
rounded the exhausted boy, and the old trainer 
dropped down beside him as Hargrave grasped his 
hand. 

“Good boy. Bunny!” he shouted; “it was the finest 
thing I ever saw.” 

At that moment Mr. Reeves pushed through, and 
knelt beside his son. 

“Oh, my boy! my boy!” he cried, “are you 
hurt ?” 

Bunny looked up and smiled happily. 

“No, Vm all right,” he answered, with a glad 
light in his eyes. 

His father patted his shoulder. “It was fine, fine, 
my boy, and I’m mighty proud of you! But you look 
worn out,” he ended, anxiously, glancing at the old 
trainer. 

“Don’t you worry, sir,” Billy answered, reassur- 
ingly, “the steam-box ’ll take all the soreness out of 
him in no time and — and it was a grand run!” 


XXX 


THE SCORE 


O one cared very much whether Bunny kicked 



1 ^ the goal or not, which was just as well, for he 
failed in his attempt, being almost too tired to bother 
with it. The game ended immediately after the 
kick-off (the score: Clinton, ii; Academy, 9), and the 
enthusiasm broke forth again as wildly as ever. The 
two teams cheered each other, and then the spectators 
broke into the field, and the boys did their snake- 
dance. Bunny made his way slowly to the dressing- 
room amid an admiring crowd, but Billy Bryan was 
intent upon getting him in the steam-box, and hus- 
tled him along as fast as possible. 

Bunny was himself again, rather ashamed for hav- 
ing gone to pieces so entirely, but too happy to think 
much about it. All the boys came to shake his 
hand, and there was quite a reception outside the 
gymnasium when he appeared. 


And one of the first to congratulate him was Ted 
Halliday. 

‘‘You played a fine game. Bunny,” he said, man- 
fully. 

Bunny appreciated this compliment more than all 


260 


THE SCORE 


the others he had received, for he couldn’t help think- 
ing that Ted must be feeling pretty badly, knowing 
how broken up he would have been if his team had 
lost. 

“I wish we both could have won, Ted,” he replied. 

Just then Mr. Reeves came up and patted Bunny 
on the back. 

“ I was very proud of you,” he said, heartily. “ It 
was a fine game. Are you all right ?” 

‘‘Oh yes,” answered Bunny; “there wasn’t much 
the matter except that I was all in.” 

“Say, you’re a wonder,” said a voice near him, 
and Bunny turned to find Joe looking at him ad- 
miringly. 

“Hello, Joe,” he said, holding out his hand. 
“What do you think of football.?” 

“Not for me!” answered Joe, promptly. “I 
haven’t the nerve to play that game, thank you. I 
don’t mind a rough-and-tumble out in a lot, but 
there’s too many in that. Talk about bridge-buildin’ 
takin’ nerve — why, it ain’t in it with football!” 

“I guess it depends upon what you are used to,” 
said Hargrave, who was with him. 

“Well,” returned Bunny, with a laugh, “I’ll take 
football every time.” 

“Me for bridges!” Joe insisted. 

“Ah, by-the-way, speaking of bridges, Hargrave,” 
Mr. Reeves interrupted, seriously, “this isn’t the 
time to talk of it, I suppose, but I’ve been hearing 
rumors of a strange boy out on the work having 
261 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


saved the life of one of your riveters, or something 
of the kind. A very foolhardy performance, I be- 
lieve. I have been meaning to mention it to you 
for some time, and have never had the opportunity. 
It seems that a youngster wandered out there and 
nearly lost his life or saved some one’s life, I don’t 
know which. I’d like to have caught him; I’d let 
him understand that half-built bridges are not the 
places for boys to play on. Do you happen to know 
who it was, Hargrave ?” 

Hargrave laughed, and pointed to Bunny. 

“What do you mean.?” demanded Mr. Reeves. 
“Am I to hear more stories of this boy of mine?” 

“He’s the culprit,” said Hargrave. 

“And I’m the boy he saved,” Joe put in, proudly. 
“And talk about nerve! I’ve known grown men as 
wouldn’t ’a’ come near doin’ it. And that ain’t all, 
either,” he added, with a wink at Bunny. 

Mr. Reeves listened while Hargrave, with Joe’s 
assistance, told of the rescue on the bridge. At the 
end Mr. Reeves held out his hand to his son. 

“My boy,” he began, a trifle huskily — “my boy, 
I — I really am proud of you. I’m just beginning to 
learn something about you, and I see that I have 
been mistaken for a long time. Of course, you 
shouldn’t have been on the bridge, but as you were 
there you did what every man with courage would 
have done. But,” he added, seriously, “you might 
have fallen.” 

Mr. Reeves put his hand on Bunny’s shoulder, 
262 


/ 


THE SCORE 


and the two, with Hargrave, walked slowly to Bunny’s 
room, the boy too happy to think of anything but 
the joy of being friends with his father. 

“ By-the-way,” said Mr. Reeves, ‘‘do you know I 
met two friends of yours to-day 

“Who were they?” asked Bunny. 

“All I know of their names is Captain John and 
Captain Sam,” answered Mr. Reeves. 

Bunny laughed heartily. “Oh yes, I know them, 
and, father, they’re awfully nice, only it is funny to 
see them at a football game with ribbons on them.” 

“ They had a tale to tell me,” Mr. Reeves went on, 
“and it seems that a father is the last one to 
hear of the fine things his son does and the first to 
know of his failures. I saw this boy lose a canoe- 
race, once and — ^well, perhaps I was mistaken about 
that. But what I can’t understand, Hargrave, is 
•why they call him ‘Bunny’! He has courage enough, 
surely, and a rabbit is proverbially a cowardly ani- 
mal, and — ” 

“Oh,” laughed Hargrave, interrupting, “it wasn t 
on that account he got his nickname. Some one 
said, years ago, that he ‘ran like a rabbit,’ and he’s 
been Bunny ever since.” 

“Well, I have learned many things to-day, and 
I’m mighty glad I came,” said Mr. Reeves, patting 
Bunny on the shoulder. 

The dinner that night was an entire success. At 
first there was some embarrassment on the part of 
both teams, but that soon wore off, and the Clinton 

263 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


boys, determined to play the parts of hosts, talked 
modestly of their victory, and did their best to make 
the Academy boys feel at home. They were alone — 
that is, there were no grown-ups, not even Hargrave, 
who took the Academy coach off to dinner with him, 
so that the boys did exactly as they pleased with no 
feeling of restraint. It was a good dinner, and by 
the time the dessert was on the table everybody was 
talking as hard as they could, and was as friendly as 
possible. 

At the end Bunny rose to make a little speech. 
This part of the programme had worried him, but 
it had to be done. 

‘‘Fellows,” he began, “I hope you enjoyed your 
dinner.” 

“We did! You bet we did!” they shouted back. 

“Fm glad,” Bunny went on. “You see, Ted 
Halliday is one of my best friends, even though we 
are against each other on the football field, and I 
didn’t see any reason why there shouldn’t be good 
feeling between the schools, if we do try to beat each 
other in athletics. After all, the two schools are 
really even on the football games we’ve played to- 
gether, for I’ve been looking up the old records, and 
I find that each team has won just nine games, so 
Clinton hasn’t anything to boast of, really. I don’t 
know how you fellows from the Academy feel about, 
it, but I hope that hereafter we’ll be good friends, 
and it was on that account that I wanted to have this 
dinner, just so that we could become acquainted with 

26j. 


THE SCORE 


each other. That’s all I have to say, but before I 
sit down I want the Clinton fellows to join in a yell 
for the Academy. Now, all together!” 

And Clinton gave their cheer with three long 
Academy’s at the end of it, and then there were calls 
for Ted Halliday to respond. 

Ted rose slowly to his feet, and began: 

“We fellows have been thinking over this dinner 
a good deal since Bunny Reeves invited us here, and 
I know that I speak for all the team when I tell you 
that we have enjoyed it more than I can say, and 
that next year, when Clinton comes to play on our 
field, there will be another dinner after the game, 
which we shall try to make as good as this one. We 
couldn’t give you a better one if we tried.” At this 
the Academy boys cheered lustily. 

“I haven’t anything to say about the game this 
afternoon,” Ted went on, “except this: that we 
haven’t any excuses to make, and that we were beaten 
fairly and squarely, and that there wasn’t any dirty 
ball on either side. We would like to have won, of 
course, but you fellows have been so decent about 
it that my only fear is that when we beat you next 
year we won’t be able to make you feel like winners. 
Seriously, I think this dinner is a fine thing, and I 
agree with Bunny that it’s just foolish to have all 
this bitter feeling between the schools, and I can 
tell you that the Academy fellows will report how 
finely we have been treated over here, and I can 
assure you that we shall do our best to make you 
265 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


feel as much at home when you visit us. Now, fel- 
lows, a long cheer for Clinton!” And the Academy 
team did their best to raise the roof and show their, 
appreciation. 

A little later there was a knock on the door, and 
when it was opened. Doctor MacHenry, carrying 
something large enclosed in a velvet bag, came into 
the room, followed by Mr. Reeves and the two coaches. 

The old doctor’s eyes twinkled as he stopped at 
the head of the table and looked down at the boys 
before him. 

“I won’t keep you long,” he began, ‘‘though I 
see you’ve finished your dinner; but I want to say 
a word about it, because I think it is a fine thing for 
all of us, and to me the best part of it is that it all 
came about from one of yourselves. It wasn’t my 
idea, you understand, nor was there any suggestion 
from any of our faculty. Well, that is the way it 
should come, and now I’m sure that the ill-feeling 
that has existed in the past will disappear.” 

The old doctor stopped for a moment, and took 
out of the bag a large silver loving-cup and placed 
it on the table. “That,” he explained, “is the 
‘Reeves Friendship Cup,’ to be played for every 
year by the two schools, and to be presented to the 
winning team at the annual dinner that we hope will 
always follow the game. Mr. Reeves is here, and 
I will let him speak for himself.” 

There were more cheers, of course, and then Mr. 
Reeves began: 


266 


THE SCORE 


“I don’t think there is need of my saying very 
much except to explain that the ‘Reeves’ on the 
cup stands for the boy you call ‘ Bunny,’ and not his 
father. He is the one who gives it, as he is giving 
the dinner, and although perhaps he doesn’t know 
it himself, his own money paid for both. What I 
should like this cup to do is to remind the school- 
boys of the future of this evening, and when you 
look at it you will find that the scores of all the 
games you have ever played together have been en- 
graved upon it, and that each team has won nine, 
including the one to-day. Therefore, it seems to me 
that for this year the Academy might take it home 
with them to show their school-fellows that Clinton 
is in earnest about being friends, and that here- 
after the team winning shall have the custody of the 
cup for the year following. I want to congratulate 
both teams on their play this afternoon, and es- 
pecially the Academy boys, for, as I told my boy be- 
fore the game, ‘it takes more nerve to lose like a 
gentleman than to win like one,’ and that the Acad- 
emy team has done. I hope the cup will always 
stand for something more than winning. Now I 
guess you think I’ve talked long enough, so I’ll 
stop. 

Mr. Reeves was cheered by both teams, and there 
were speeches by Hargrave and the Academy coach, 
so that it was quite late when at length the dinner 
broke up. 

“Say, Bunny,” said Walters, as they were bidding 
267 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


each other good-night, “you won the game for us, 
all right.” 

“You certainly did,” echoed Thornton, as usual. 

“Not a bit more than you or the rest of the fel- 
lows,” Bunny protested. “Everybody did his best. 
And see here,” he added, lowering his voice, 
“aren’t you glad we didn’t use those signals, after 

all r 

Walters shook his head. “No, I’m not,” he de- 
clared, emphatically; “we might have beaten them 
a lot worse than we did, and we wouldn’t have had 
heart-failure all that second half. So, sir. I’m not 
glad. Are you. Thorn 

“Yes,” answered Thornton, with great delibera- 
tion — “yes, I am glad!” 

“What exclaimed Bunny and Walters in chorus. 

“That’s what I said,” Thornton went on, dog- 
gedly. “I don’t care what you say, Walt, I think 
Bunny did the right thing to send those signals back.” 

Walters, taken completely by surprise at this sud- 
den independence of his room-mate’s, looked vaguely 
from one to the other of the boys. 

“Well, maybe I’m wrong,” he admitted, meekly. 
“Yes, I guess maybe I am. Anyway, I’ll think it 
over.” 

Still later that night Bunny sat in his father’s room 
talking over the day’s events. 

“By-the-way, my boy,” said Mr. Reeves, “do you 
remember that canoe - race you lost at Blue Point 
this summer ?” 


268 


THE SCORE 


‘‘Yes/’ answered Bunny, with a smile. 

“Well, it seems to me,” his father went on — “it 
seems to me that I was mistaken in thinking you 
hadn’t the nerve to finish. Was there some other 
explanation for your losing 

Bunny was distinctly embarrassed. 

“Yes, there was another reason,” he answered, 
hesitatingly. 

“That’s enough,” said Mr. Reeves, “you needn’t 
say anything more about it. I see I was mistaken. 
Well, my boy, I didn’t know you. I had many 
things to do, and have yet for that matter, but I’m 
going to let some of them take care of themselves 
this coming summer, for we’re going to Europe 
together. That, I think, is the best way for us to 
get to know each other, and it’‘s time we were better 
friends.” 

Bunny’s face lighted up with pleasure. 

“That would be fine!” he said. “Only — ” 

“Only what.?” demanded his father. 

“Oh, nothing, except that I was thinking of what 
Bob and Ted and I had planned for next summer.” 

“That’s it, is it .?” replied Mr. Reeves. “We won’t 
have any trouble about that. Why not take Ted 
and Bob with us .?” 

“Do you really mean it?” exclaimed Bunny. 

“My boy,” began Mr. Reeves, “you, too, have 
something to learn about me. I never say anything 
I don’t mean.” 

“Father,” said Bunny, presently, “where did I 
269 


CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN 


get the money from that you bought the cup with ? 
I didn’t know that I had any.” 

For a moment Mr. Reeves, looked out of the win- 
dow into the night. 

“Your mother left it for you, my boy,” he said, 
softly. “I wish she could have known you. She 
would have been very proud of you, and — and it 
wouldn’t have taken us all this time to get acquainted. 
Now we’d better be off to bed. To-morrow begins 
a new life for both of us.” 


THE END 


















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